


Revealed

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Canon Rewrite, Captured, Choking, Developing Relationship, Distrust, Episode Fix-It: s12e10 The Timeless Children, F/M, False Memories, Gallifrey, Held Prisoner, Injury, Mind Reading, Paranoia, Psychological Torture, Recovered Memories, Repressed Memories, Spies & Secret Agents, Surveillance, The Matrix (Doctor Who) - Freeform, The Vault (Doctor Who), Time Lord Angst, Uneasy Allies, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 33,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23038597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: The reader is a specialist for UNIT, with the special ability to read people’s pasts upon touching. Given the task of investigating an MI6 agent who has an apparent connection with The Doctor, she find herself face to face with The Master, caught up in a game of cat and mouse with nowhere to run.When The Master finally locates her and brings her back to his TARDIS, locking her up until she co-operates, the pair find themselves fighting an inexplicable mental link. The horrors of the past hang heavily over them both and madness threatens to swallow them up unless they discover what is binding them together and break it.
Relationships: The Master (Dhawan)/Reader, The Master (Doctor Who)/Reader
Comments: 90
Kudos: 192





	1. Chapter 1

The best thing about London was the ease with which you could disappear. The sea of people on the tube, floating blindly from one place to the next, so desperate not to interact that they actively ignored everyone outside their phone screen, provided perfect camouflage. Even he was too busy reading the paper, grumbling like every other Londoner at the daily delays, that he didn’t notice you watching him. 

Two days ago, you’d been sent a file from UNIT HQ. All it contained was a picture of your target and a less than interesting collection of reports on MI6’s O. He was a good agent but of little importance. An analyst with limited access to classified files whose only crime seemed to curiosity (intelligence agencies tended to frown upon that particular trait). 

But, over the past months, he’d popped up on UNIT’s radar, talking about aliens as if they were real. Interested to know exactly how much he knew, whether he would be a useful contact and asset, or to simply strike him off as delusional, your superiors had assigned you the case. You’d been following him since, light surveillance to get an idea of what sort of man you were dealing with. Thus far, you weren’t overly worried. O was about as far from a threat as you’d ever come across. 

He bumped elbows with you as you left the station but he spared you no second glance. You were just another nameless face in an uncaring crowd. As you shuffled up to the street after him, weaving through the bustling rabble, you attached yourself to a group of bright eyed tourists and feigned interest in the towering buildings. 

If only they knew what life here was truly like. The anger, the jealousy. Life in the city was hard. It drove people into the shadows, chasing dreams with such ambition that they became blind to the fact they were trapped in a nightmare of their own creation. Everywhere you turned, you felt it: a sickness on the people that drained them, left them empty inside. That was when they did stupid things, bent to the will of those who cared only for destruction. That was when they became a threat. 

You took a sharp right turn and jumped up onto a low wall, using the extra height to spot O. The crowds were thinner here so you spotted his dark hair almost instantly but also left you feeling exposed. Quick to blend back into the background, you hopped down from the wall and, with the brutal haste of a commuter about to miss the last train, you pushed your way through another group of tourists to catch him. 

In the bustle, you momentarily lost sight of O but caught his reflection in the window of a passing cab as it whizzed past. Unfortunately, he saw you too. A mixture of emotions flickered across his face before he settled on a smirk. He spun around and ducked down into a subway, disappearing from view. 

Shit. Throwing discretion to the wind, you barged after him. Barely sparing a thought for those around you, you did everything you could to keep the dark haired man in your sights. He did his best to shake you, taking random turns, backtracking and trying to hide in plain sight but it did no good in the end. Where he was just an analyst playing spies, you were actually trained for field work. 

Closing the gap, you followed him into an office block - a law firm of some kind. Across the lobby, you saw him walk away from a pretty young woman, snatching her ID pass as he passed. Tapping in, he waltzed through security without them shooting him another look. You couldn’t let him get away here - who knew how many exits this place had - so raced after him. 

You jumped over the security gate but were quickly grabbed by a stern security guard who refused to accept your UNIT identification as valid. He escorted you from the building and left you with a warning that not even UNIT could save you from the lawyers here if you tried to gain unauthorised access again. 

Deflated, you sat on the brick wall opposite the entrance, head in your hands. How had this gone so wrong so quickly? 

“Don’t feel so bad. You got closer than anyone else ever has to catching me off guard.”

You glanced up, amazed to see your target standing there. At a loss for words, you breathed, “Oh!”

He gave a little wave, smiling at your shock. “That’s my name. You alright there?”

You shook yourself and returned his smile, albeit cautiously. Never had the person you’d been tailing stopped to talk to you. Usually, when people realised that someone was after them, they made themselves scarce. “Fine. Thanks.”

“Do you fancy a cuppa?”

“I… Sure." 

O led you to a small cafe and offered you the seat by the window. It was a smart move; a harmless pleasantry masking an ulterior motive. It backed you into a corner while giving himself a clear route to escape, if necessary. Obviously he wasn’t as inexperienced as you’d initially thought. 

A waiter brought over two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits almost immediately, without you needing to order. He smiled brightly at O, treating him like an old friend. You wondered whether O had this effect on everyone. 

He helped himself to a custard cream, pulling off the top biscuit and scraping off the cream inside first. Dipping the biscuit into his tea, O asked, "So, who sent you?”

You didn’t answer, so he puzzled it out himself. “You’re not intelligence; I’d know if they were after me. No gun, so not the army either. Some kind of UNIT specialist, then?”

“Your interest in The Doctor has been flagged and my superiors are curious as to your interest,” you replied. It was about as close to a confirmation as you were able to good and O leant back in his seat, regarding you with interest. 

“Why did they send you, specifically?”

“I’m good at getting answers.”

He eyed you curiously, his gaze almost unfocused like he was struggling to really see you. “Is that so?" 

You merely smiled jadedly in response. O’s attention snapped back into place and he asked, "Have you met them? The Doctor?”

“I met him once, a long time ago." 

O hummed, enticing you to share your story. You wouldn’t though. For one, it was highly classified. All of your involvement in UNIT was. For another, it was an experience you tried hard to forget. Turning the attention back on him, you asked, "What about you? Have you met The Doctor?”

“A few times,” he grinned. “We’ve only texted since she became a woman, though.”

He looked all too pleased with himself. It was no surprise, really. There were tallies in every department at UNIT, marking and celebrating every encounter with alien life. Crossing paths with The Doctor was worth more points than any other species and even a few seconds in the presence of the timelord earned the lucky souls bragging rights for the rest of their careers. 

You weren’t interested in that, though. Not really. “You’re associates, then? Friends?”

“I suppose that’s one word for it. You haven’t touched your tea. It’s good.”

“Not that thirsty.” Still, you took a sip out of politeness. A quick glance at your watch confirmed that this unexpected meeting would have to come to an end soon, for which you were quite grateful. Something about O left you on edge and you would be glad to take a step back, review his files and decide on the best way to proceed. 

Leaving a few pounds to cover your untouched tea, you said, “I have someone I need to meet but it would be beneficial for us both if you could come in for a formal conversation on your involvement with The Doctor.”

“Of course.” He offered his hand, willingly opening himself up to a connection. “I look forward to it.”

The moment you took his hand, hundreds of images exploded into your mind. A world burning. No, multiple worlds burning. The arid stench of death and decay, the heat of the fire melting your skin. Flames and destruction as far as the eye could see. Pain and betrayal, cutting through your heart like a knife. 

A living machine cannibalised, the past and future colliding. A tear in the sky, death raining from above, a paradox that shook the entire universe. Humanity subjugated, changed once into clones of a man, twice into machines without a soul. Utter disregard for the peace of the dead. Sick twisted pleasure taken from suffering of the living. 

Beneath it all: drums. The never ending sound of drums. 

Your hand fell to your side, O’s face showing no awareness of the horrors you had just witnessed. His past. Your past. It was impossible. Someone would have known if he was back, wouldn’t they? The Doctor would know, would come back to stop him. Right?

O’s lips moved but you couldn’t hear the sound over the frantic beating of your heart. This couldn’t be happening. And yet, you knew there was no denying it. What you saw was never wrong. That’s why UNIT kept you around. 

You should have just smiled and walked away. Taken what you knew to your superiors and left them to deal with it. But every time you blinked you saw the Earth in ruins, remembered what he’d done. All higher logic was failing when faced with the memories of what you’d lost, fear the only thing you were feeling now. 

His name fell from your lips before you could stop it, sealing your fate for good. “Master…”


	2. Chapter 2

“What did you just say?”

You stared at O - at The Master - unable to overcome the disconnect between the odd agent with a nice smile and the megalomaniac who had enslaved humanity. There had to be some mistake; you’d read the reports and the Master was dead. The Doctor had confirmed as much themselves. This couldn’t be true.

But you knew your powers were infallible. They never led you astray and there was no mistaking what you’d seen, what you’d felt. Worlds burning, civilisations crumbling. The pain of one somehow equalling that of an entire race, spurred on by a madness of their own creating to destroy everything. 

No, as much as you wished to be wrong, there was no denying. The Master was back and you’d just blown his cover. There was no way that this was going to end well for you, that much was painfully clear, but you refused to go down without a fight. If he wanted to silence you, you weren’t going to make it easy. 

It was easy to be brave when facing down O but as his eyes darkened, the hatred of a thousand species burning in his eyes, you felt yourself shrinking into yourself. This wasn’t another harmless MI6 agent you were dealing with. This was The Master and no amount of feigned self confidence would get you out of this. His tone like acid on your skin, he said, “I asked you a question.”

“It was nothing.”

“Tell me.”

You tried to look away, but were frozen in his gaze. Everything felt wrong, like the world had shifted slightly. A veil had been drawn back, revealing something else, the truth that hid in plain sight but everyone ignored because it was too much to bear. 

There was a niggling in the back of your brain, a compulsion to answer. The air was heavy on your chest, pressing down against you. An invisible force crushing you, crushing your resistance. However, as you felt the cracks start to show, a burst of defiance consumed you. You were stronger than this. Master of your own mind, always. 

Taking a step back, every muscle in your body screamed. Each and every cell could sense the danger you were in but you found yourself unable to truly flee. Focusing on the small victory rather than dwelling on the overall helplessness of your situation, you said stiffly, “I need to leave. Right now.”

He reached across the table to grab you but you jumped back, breathing heavily. “Don’t touch me.”

“Answer me then!” The Master spat. “Tell me exactly what you said.”

You realised then that the cafe had gone extremely quiet. The soft chatter and clanging of mugs and plates had ceased. The baristas at their machines had frozen, quite literally stopped halfway through pouring a coffee. You could have heard a pin drop. 

It was completely silent except… 

A gentle tapping on the table, a rhythm of four beats. That awful pattern, spreading through the patrons of the cafe until each and every person was tapping along. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. 

Glaring at The Master, you asked, “What are you doing to them?”

“They might have forgotten but it’s still there in the back of their tiny minds.”

You clutched your skull, dug your fingers into your temple to try and block out the beat. With every passing second it grew stronger, filling the gaps between your synapses and blocking your thoughts. “Stop it.”

“No, I don’t think I will. Now, you’re going to tell me what I want to know before I get mad.”

It was impossibly hard to think straight with the rhythm pounding inside of your skull. As every higher notion faded away, you were left with one desperate thought: escape. That single word kept you on the right side of sanity, pulled you back from the edge. You closed your eyes, pinched the bridge of your nose as you fought to retain control of your mind. You wouldn’t play his game, even if it killed you. 

Stepping around the table, all too aware of how your body shook, adrenaline and fear overwhelming your system, you breathed, “I am leaving.”

The Master lunged to grab your arm but you were ready. You brought your elbow to his nose, catching him off guard, then shoved him back with such force that he fell over a chair. That gave you enough of an opening to flee, slipping from his grasp and weaving through the confused patrons of the cafe. 

Without hesitation, you pounded down the road and fled with as much as haste as you could. You didn’t stop running as you pulled your phone from your pocket, dialling 8 as you wove through the speeding traffic of central London. Angry commuters swore at you as you passed but you’d rather face their wrath than The Master’s. 

It took three tones for the line to pick up. “I need out now.”

“Two hours.”

“No, David. Now.”

The man on the end of the line sighed and you were vaguely aware of him tapping away on a keyboard as you slipped into an alleyway, doubling over to catch your breath. “Best I can do is in an hour from Fairoaks. You’re already out of favours as it is.”

You would have preferred something sooner but you weren’t exactly surrounded with options right now. All that mattered was getting out of the country and as far away from The Master as possible. Nodding, you said, “I’ll take it. Any chance of a car?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Thank you, David.”

“Stay safe." 

The moment he hung up, you called your supervisor. Or tried. When you finally managed to get through to her office, it was her assistant that answered. She sounded all too bored, which wasn’t unusual. Your department wasn’t at the forefront of anything and rarely had to deal with emergencies like this. "Yes?”

“I need to speak to the Sergeant.”

“She’s out today. Leave a message.”

You groaned in frustration. The fate of the world was in the balance and you were being told to leave a message! You could have gone over her head, sought out some of your higher ranking colleagues but they wouldn’t have believed you. Of course, they would investigate but very few truly believed your abilities were sound. Despite spending their lives chasing aliens, the thought of a human with powers such as yours was too much. 

They never questioned them when you provided the information they wanted to hear but every other time you were treated like a freak, a nuisance, someone desperate for attention above their post. The Sergeant was one of the few who took your word as truth; she would fight in your corner and speed the process up so that UNIT may actually be able to stop The Master before he did anything dangerous. Without her authority and position to back up your claims, it was futile. 

With no other choice, you said, “Tell her it’s O. The MI6 agent. He’s The Master.”

She hummed in bored acknowledgement. “Okay. Anything else?“

"I’m going off the grid for a few weeks. If the sarge needs me, she knows how to find me.”

“I’ll pass it on. Have a nice trip,” she said, as if you were merely going to the Caribbean for a little stress relieving cruise. 

You hung up and braced yourself, stepping out of the shadows of the alleyway. You flinched at the bright sun and all but walked into the road to call a cab. Giving the driver the address for Fairgate airfield, you finally allowed yourself a moment to relax. 

It was short lived, though. Out the window, on the other side of the road, you saw The Master scanning the area for you. You ducked down, earning an odd look from the driver, and stayed down until you were on the road out of the city. Only when you were on the plane, thirty thousand feet in the air, did you finally allow yourself to breathe again.


	3. Chapter 3

The morning heat here was brutal. The sun had barely passed the horizon but you were already sweating in your light shirt. It didn’t help to remember that this was as cool as the day would get but it was a small mercy, however short lived. You kept to the shade, avoiding both the harsh rays of the sun and also the gaze of those around you. 

Being so early, you’d have thought that there would be fewer people around. That was true but the streets were far from empty. You weren’t the only one rising with the sun; many of the locals were up before you, starting their daily duties while it was still cool enough to function. It was admirable but you’d have preferred to get into the city centre without passing so many people. 

Tugging on the tattered scarf which covered your head, you hid your features from the ever present surveillance that came from the population’s indiscriminate use of mobile phones. It was a risk to leave the safety of your shelter, to endanger yourself and put your image out there on the web, but you needed supplies and couldn’t wait another day. 

Thankfully, most people were so busy with their own tasks that they barely spared you a second glance. Oversized clothes, tatty and in desperate need of a proper wash, provided another layer of protection, the bright colours like camouflage in the bustling city. 

You walked into the city like everyone else, unable to spare the money to ride on the back of a bike. Paranoia also played a part. Getting on a vehicle with a stranger put you in a dangerous position. You never knew who they were, whether or not he had gotten to them and had paid them to take you to him. 

As you strode along the muddy road, the thick clay splattering up the back of your leg, the roaring of an engine closed in from behind. You listened carefully as it slowed down on approach, your heart rate spiking, preparing for the worst. You slipped your hand into the large pocket of your trousers, tightening around the handle of a blade. It proved unnecessary, though, as the bike rode straight past you without the driver sparing you a single glance. 

Counting to ten, then to twenty, you calmed your nerves and slowly released your hold on the weapon. Just another commuter, heading into the city for business or work. You cursed your mind for turning normal people into threats. You had been careful. He wouldn’t find you. You were safe here. 

Still, as the city grew closer, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there were more eyes on you than normal. The men who played dominoes on the street corner watched you like vultures as you passed, eyeing you with a curiosity they had never displayed before. One pulled out his phone and you immediately turned and ran in the opposite direction until your legs could carry you no further. 

You doubled over, breathing heavily. You shook your hands and jumped up and down a few times, working off the extra adrenaline that continued to flood your system. It took two minutes of pacing back and forth down a shadowed alley to convince your over active mind that no one was after you. You didn’t really believe it as you stepped back out into the crowd of people but couldn’t waste anymore time. 

The markets were thriving, making it easy to disappear into the madness. You made quick work of your shopping list, collecting enough food and water to last you at least another week. You used different shopkeepers every week, ensuring that no one got to know you as a regular customer, but one recalled your face from your visit last month. 

“Ah! It’s you!” the man exclaimed. He excitedly dug around in his bag before pulling out a book. He handed it to you, much to your confusion. “My son said you enjoyed spy stories. This is a classic: James Bond!”

Running your fingers over the broken spine, you flicked through the pages with a keen eye. There was nothing untoward about the book. The pages were slightly off colour, the distinctive smell of aged paper wafting out, but there were no hidden notes between the pages, no obvious change to the text. It was just a gift from a kind man. 

You thanked him, dropping it into your bag alongside a handful of fruit and a bag of rice. You handed over the money and he flicked through the notes, counting the cash before shoving it into his pocket. He called to his son to get you your change, fingers tapping on his chair as you waited. 

Even with the deafening noise of the market, you picked out the rhythm instantly. How could you not? Those four beats haunted your every moment, waking and sleeping. Although, thinking back, you couldn’t remember the last time you had properly slept through. 

Even the smallest sound was enough to wake you now and if, by some miracle, you did manage to reach a deep state of sleep the nightmares jolted you awake. All the memories you’d repressed over the years, the loss and the pain and the anger, hung heavy on the forefront of your mind, waking or sleeping. 

And then there was that rhythm. That god awful beat that had never truly faded after you touched The Master’s mind. It hurt, like a hammer to the inside of your skull. Constantly, ever present, slowly driving you mad. And now it had passed from inside your mind into the real world, a warning if ever you’d heard one. 

You spun around, searching the crowd for any sign of The Master. There were just too many people, though. No one stayed still long enough for you to get a good fix on their faces. If The Master was here, you wouldn’t know until it was too late. You had to get to open space, somewhere where you wouldn’t be so trapped. 

“Keep the change,” you breathed, already disappearing into the stream of bodies, heading out the city with as much haste as you could manage. With little other choice, you paid a bike to take you back to the place in which you were living, too desperate to be out of the busy city to consider the dangers. 

As you handed over the cash, you caught a glimpse of the woman behind the helmet and your chest tightened. The entire world shifted as a face you thought you’d never see again smiled back at you. She was the spitting image of your former boss, The Sergeant. It was disorientating to say the least, especially considering what had happened. 

You found out not longer after you’d settled in South Africa that your supervisor and her assistant had died in an unfortunate car accident. They’d never managed to pass on the message about The Master to anyone with the power to really act and the investigation on Agent O was closed once he left the organisation, a few weeks after you’d run. Whether that meant that The Master had given up on his plan or had simply stepped back into the shadows to watch his scheme unfold you didn’t know. 

Reaching out to UNIT for updates was too risky. You weren’t a fool; unlike you, hopping from one shitty abandoned building to another as you were, The Master would have all the equipment he needed to find you. That was why you had stayed hidden, away from technology and anything that could be used to trace your position. But now, after six months of evasion, it looked like all of your suffering had been for nothing. 

It was cruel. You didn’t know how but you were certain that The Master was responsible for this trick. He was taunting you with the face of your friend, a friend your carelessness had gotten killed. Trying to break you. Well, while you still had breath in your lungs, he wouldn’t succeed. 

You ducked into the abandoned structure, slipping between the sheets of rusty corrugated iron. Inside your makeshift home, you gathered your belongings and stuffed them into your rucksack, gifted to you by David after you’d fled Britain. He’d organised a van to meet you once you landed and take you across the border here, providing the best forged passport you’d ever seen and enough cash to last a year. Unfortunately, that had been your last favour and now you couldn’t rely on him for another extraction. You were alone. 

Except, you weren’t. 

The Master was somewhere nearby, waiting for you to make a mistake and reveal yourself. As if he didn’t already know exactly where you were. He was toying with you, teasing you with freedom when it was never on the table. There would be no escaping him. Your fate was as good as sealed but you still stepped out into the blinding sun, preferring to make an attempt and fail than accept this sitting down. 

Three days, it took. You managed to swing a seat on a passing truck, paying the driver more than he would have earned in a month of deliveries to take you away from the city. Once he dropped you off, you walked for almost three days before exhaustion overtook you. 

The sun high in the sky, you stumbled off the road and into a ditch, the fall barely softened by your backpack. Blinking back sleep, you clawed yourself to your feet and shuffled on, each step bringing you closer to your timely death. You couldn’t do this anymore. When you accepted that, falling to your knees with such force that you feared they might have shattered, a shadow appeared over you. 

You didn’t need to look up to know who cast it. 

“You and I need to have a little chat.”


	4. Chapter 4

A vault. The Master had locked you in a vault. Worse than that, you were stuck in a cage, right in the centre of the enormous, otherwise empty room. A cage with glass walls, offering a tempting but impossible view to freedom, inside a fucking vault. 

Naturally, the first thing you'd done was try to break the glass. All you'd succeeded in doing was shattering your knuckles and draining your body of the last hopeful burst of strength it possessed. Learning from your mistake, you slowly made your way around the cage, feeling the glass for any imperfections or sign of a door. It was just another wasted effort. 

No windows, the only light came from a harsh source above your head, always just a little bit too bright for comfort. You longed for sleep, every muscle in your body weighed down by complete exhaustion. The floor was cold and uncomfortable, although why you'd expected anything else was beyond you. 

The locks on the unnecessarily large door creaked as he opened them and you quickly scuttled to the far corner of your cage where you'd first woken up. Curling your legs to your chest, you slowed your breathing, counting each held breath in the hopes that he'd leave you alone. His footsteps echoed around the room as he paced back and forth behind you. 

Then, suddenly, silence. You held your breath, praying that he'd fallen for your trick and left. However the sharp sound of locks never came. Instead, The Master said, "You can stop your little charade. I know you're awake. We are going to have a nice little chat, you and I."

Breathing a deep sigh, disguising the agony of movement with frustration, you pushed yourself up off the cold ground and slowly turned towards The Master. He stood with his arms crossed, a distinct frown on his face. It was difficult to suppress a shiver, what with the cool stone tiles beneath you and his ice cold stare freezing you to the core. 

"You can't keep me locked up in a cage." The words, barely more than a whisper, scratched your dry throat. You couldn't recall the last time you'd had a drink and a quick survey of the cage confirmed that The Master had given no thought to your physical condition before dumping you in there.

"Why not?"

"Human rights?"

He scoffed, dismissing the notion entirely. Stupid of you to have assumed that he would care about treating you with a morsel of respect while keeping you prisoner. "It's not that bad," he said. "You'll get used to it. Trust me."

"Don't think I will, if it's all the same. Why haven't you killed me yet?"

"Keep on whingeing and I will," The Master grumbled. He circled the cage, taking in your pitiful state. You could only imagine how you looked. You'd walked non stop beneath the harsh African sun for three days before you collapsed and he found you there, almost dead, on the roadside. 

The soles of your shoes were littered with holes, the once white fabric now dark and sporting red patches where blisters had burst and your feet had bled. Your shirt and trousers hung uncomfortably on your frame, tattered and discoloured, once fitted but now too large after months of malnutrition. You couldn't recall the last time you'd showered properly; you'd gotten used to the smell but The Master made no show of hiding his disgust. 

The closer he came, the more you drew into yourself. You pulled your legs up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them, wishing to disappear entirely. Beneath his harsh stare, you felt like a disgrace to life itself, barely worthy of the title of human being. 

As he circled back round, you caught The Master rubbing at his temples, a sharp hiss escaping his lips. Almost immediately after, you felt a jarring pain in your head as if someone was splitting your skull with a burning poker. You screwed your eyes tightly shut, breathing raggedly until the blinding burn faded away. 

By the time you opened your eyes, The Master was crouched down right beside you, his dark gaze burrowing into you. You could practically feel him, rummaging around the corners of your mind. Even when you shut out the world, hid away in the darkness, you could still sense his gaze on you. 

He lifted his hand to the thin barrier that separated you and tapped on the glass like a child trying to get the attention of a zoo animal. "Look at me."

The Master tapped the glass again, four beats growing more aggressive with each repeat of the pattern. You felt it burning in the depths of your mind, an anger driving you to madness. No, not you. Him. 

Images flashed before your eyes, a tangled mess of memories that shouldn't exist. Against your better judgement, you focused on the rhythm and expanded your senses, diving deeper into the past. 

_That rhythm...._

So many moments in time, all playing out in the same instant, tearing you from your physical body and scattering you through the vortex. There were no words to describe the pain. It was fire and ice waging war throughout your body, melting your cells and recrystallising them, the new jagged walls scratching at your skin. It was life and death, the joy and pain of lost possibilities, everything that ever was and would never be. 

_Always there...._

As you teased apart the layers of time with the force of a sledgehammer, single moments surrounded you, caged you in a different type of prison. The details were clear but the wider images were blurred and you couldn't separate one memory from the others. All that you knew was pain, maliciously inflicted and willingly received, horrors that were too much for your mind to process. 

_Beneath it all...._

Your eyes shot open, the stench of death lingering in your nostrils. Panicked, you scuttled backwards in a pointless attempt to put distance between you and the madman holding you prisoner. It did little good; your back soon hit the far wall of the glass prison and The Master was quick to join you on the other side of the room. 

"What did you do?"

"I… Nothing," you said, shaking your head. The drumming had ceased but you could still feel it beneath your skin, an itch that you couldn't shake. You resisted the urge to claw at your arm, to give the rhythm an outlet, but only by tapping the forsaken beat on the ground. "I didn't… I don't know what -"

"No, no. Don't lie to me. Don't even try. You've done something to me. I can hear them again. Tell me what you did."

You? This wasn't your fault! The Master should be asking what he had done to you. Never in years of reading people had anything like this happened before. Once you pulled away from an open mind, the connection shattered. That was how it always worked. It was clean and simple and safe. There was never any kind of transfer, of sharing memories, not like this. 

"I want to know what you've done to me."

"And I want something to eat."

The Master leaned backwards, bobbing on his toes. A look of confusion spread across his face, an expression that did not suit him at all. That was quickly replaced by a vicious smile, as if any part of this situation was remotely amusing. "Excuse me?"

Perfectly on cue your stomach growled, accompanied by a dull ache that spread through your body. Thankful for the support of the glass cage to keep you upright, you gave into the heaviness of your eyelids. Forcing as much strength and defiance into your words as you could muster - it was certainly better to die with a fire in your heart than go out meekly - you muttered, "I don't know how long Timelords can go without eating but humans need regular sustenance. I'm hungry and tired and won't answer your questions until you bring me something to eat."

"You are in no position to be bargaining."

"And yet here I am, doing just that. Food, water, sleep. Then I'll give you answers."

The glass panel shook as The Master slammed his hand against the barrier, muttering angrily as he stormed out of your prison cell. Alone again, you slumped to the ground, almost relieved to press your burning skin to the cool stone beneath you. 

As you drifted in and out of consciousness, feeling oddly safe enough in your prison to risk sleep for the first time in weeks, you wondered vaguely how The Master would respond when he realised you had no answers. The records on him were vague but consistent. There would be no mercy.


	5. Chapter 5

Betrayed. That was the only word to describe how you felt. Your entire childhood had been a lie. Beauty and The Beast had promised in glorious song that the grey stuff was delicious but in reality it was far from true. Served up in what was only one step away from being a dog’s dinner bowl, it was cold and slimy and probably the worst thing you had ever ingested. 

It coated your throat in a sticky lining and settled heavily in your stomach. Providing energy enough to keep you from keeling over, the grey sludge might have kept you alive but did little to satiate the hunger. Still, you practically licked the bowl clean every time, unwilling to waste a single grim drop. 

As such, The Master continued to leave you bowls of the miserable mush, replacing the empty bowls as you slept. And sleep you did. There was something in it, you knew. A sedative of some kind. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Obviously an attempt to exert his power of you, you actually found the regular routine quelled your fears. It provided a slither of normality, a regularity to the otherwise empty days. 

You turned his control to your advantage. The regular food drops and distinct split between day and night gave you stability. Once you were strong enough to move without passing out, you filled your waking hours with every kind of entertainment you could imagine. Mostly exercise, to which your fragile body had been initially resistant, slowly but surely rebuilding the strength in your limbs and core. 

Interspersed with the physical training, there was a lot of pacing, some staring blankly at the wall and a healthy dose of daydreaming. The silence was a comfortable companion but when it started to grate on your nerves you filled it with terrible singing, screaming out your frustrations at the top of your lungs to a questionably identifiable melody. Not only did it help to release your pent up anger, it had the added bonus of annoying him. He had to be monitoring you somehow and while there was more than likely a mute button to your cell feed it filled you with a twisted hope to think that you might be wearing The Master down as well. 

It was amazing how the human mind found new ways to entertain itself. You learned how to play the spoons. You built sad little towers with your bloody shoes and empty cups and bowls, a surge of power coursing through your veins when you knocked it down to the ground like an angry god. You sat and watched the grey sludge drop off the spoon and back into the bowl just for another kind of sound. 

It only occured to you after twenty sleep cycles - they may have been days but you suspected The Master was conditioning you to a different schedule completely - that he might not actually be coming back for you. That he had left you here to rot, out of his way, then buggered off elsewhere and forgotten about his pet prisoner. 

For all your postured strength and control, that was what finally rattled you to the point where you spent the entire night curled up in a ball, staring into the darkness for some hidden meaning to all of this suffering. 

Instead of answers, it was The Master himself that came to you. 

He stood a few feet from your inner prison, arms folded across his chest as he stared down at your pitiful state. In the dim light you couldn’t see his expression but felt the superiority radiating from him. You were, in his eyes, finally at a point where you would answer his each and every question. What a shame it would be when he realised that he was wrong.

“Food, water, sleep. I gave you what you wanted. Now talk to your benevolent Master.”

“I asked for food. This isn’t food.”

“It sustains your fragile body. Perfectly efficient so there’s no messy waste. You should be grateful.”

There were many emotions currently knocking around in your mind but gratitude was not one of them. You pushed yourself to your feet, far easier now than it had been when you were first dumped in this bloody vault, and gestured to the empty space. “Oh, yes, thank you Master for keeping me in a cage like a little pet.”

“People tend to hold a fondness for their pets. I couldn’t care less if you lived or died.”

“Oh, fuck off." 

You felt his glare like a thousand tiny knives on your skin, could practically feel his hand closing around your throat as he choked the life out of you. He matched your pacing, his steps growing heavier and more irritated with each lap of the cage. "You are testing my patience, human.”

“Good.”

In a peak of rage, The Master slammed his fist against the glass prison. You jumped back at the thundering crash, immensely glad for the unyielding strength of the panels that separated you from your captor. When you looked back to The Master you found his expression perfectly neutral, cold and calculating. 

Rage was not so easily quelled which begged the uncomfortable suggestion that this was a mere annoyance to him and nothing deeper. You suddenly wondered whether fighting him was the best plan or if you’d actually survive finding out exactly how hot he burned in the flames of anger. 

Hands shoved in his pockets, The Master rocked back and forth on his heels before resuming his circling of your prison. Even though he followed the same path with each round, you felt more trapped than ever, like a rat caught in the body of a boa constrictor, the air slowly leaving your lungs. “Tell me about your role at UNIT.”

“Why not just read my file.”

“I did. All it says is that you are - or rather, were - a specialist consultant. You worked with a pointless department and absolutely no one cared when you left. What did you do that was so useful that they kept you around even though they all thought you were a joke?”

“We gathered intelligence.”

The Master scoffed, muttering under his breath that humans didn’t understand the word. “Try again.”

“I read people.”

“How?”

“By reading them.”

“ _How?_ ”

“Piss off.”

Maintaining his control far better this time, The Master simply met your resistance with a twisted grin. He pressed his palm to the glass, watching you intently. As he leant in, the transparent surface steamed up with each slow breath. At complete odds with the threatening interrogation, he gently tapped the pattern against the barrier. 

You turned away from the sound, desperately ignoring the call to listen. “That’s not going to work on me.”

“You remember it, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Lies,” he hissed. Once again you found yourself grateful for the thin wall between you, uncertain if your nerve would have held anywhere near this long if you’d been in real danger of him actually harming you. “You weren’t there on the Valiant - I knew every face - so how do you remember?”

Your head spun at the mention of the Valiant. Hundreds of images flickered passed your eyes, most centred in or around the impressively large ship. Torture scenes played out in full, simultaneously bombarding your mind with multiple executions that made no sense. One man couldn’t die that many ways, surely? You would definitely recall having been there to see something that awful.

So much suffering and pain but, by some miraculous grace, you felt a clinical disconnect from them. None of these memories were yours. Did that mean the connection between you and The Master still active or were these the lingering shadows of what you’d seen before? A few months ago, neither would have seemed possible. Now you weren’t so sure about anything. 

Eyes squeezed tightly shut as you blocked out the arid scent of burning flesh and metal, you muttered, “The aircraft carrier known as the Valiant was decommissioned before I was recruited.”

“You’re just repeating what I said. Try again. Tell me how you withheld the memories of that year. That timeline was erased.”

“I don’t have the answers that you want.”

“Oh, but you do. Somewhere in that pretty little head of yours. You’ll tell me soon enough.”

You were pleading with him, willing him to understand that this was no trick on your part. Surely he was smart enough to recognise the truth. His own ego and sense of self importance couldn’t be so high that… You shook that thought aside realising that you had no idea how deep his sense of righteousness went. 

“One last chance, love. Tell me what I want to know.”

“No. I won’t.”

He hummed, already heading towards the vault door. “We’ll see.”


	6. Chapter 6

This was all nothing more than a twisted game for him, you were sure. After your last refusal to answer his questions, The Master withheld your food. Expecting to wake up to another portion of the grey stuff, which had depressingly become quite palatable over the past weeks, you found in your bowl instead a note:

_Food for information. That was the deal._

You told yourself it was fine. For the first few days, it was. Your body retained enough energy from the sludge to keep you going without any horrendously awful side effects. Of course, the hunger in the pit of your stomach continued to grow and the grumbling grew louder, disturbing your peaceful silence more often. But you’d survived worse. 

It took you a few cycles to realise that he was changing your sleeping pattern. The waking hours grew longer and you were greeted by shorter, more irregular periods of darkness as The Master worked to throw off your newfound rhythm. On the odd occasion that you managed to sleep, it was never deep and you were always awoken by those forsaken drums burning through your skull.

The beat of four wasn’t coming through a series of hidden speakers, though. No, it was drilling its way out of your skull, desperately and painfully vying from freedom from the depths of your mind. What started out as a few sharp bursts became a near constant cloud of torment. It burnt as hot as the sun, blinding you from the inside out, until all you could do was sit, practically catatonic, and stare at the wall in the hope that the bland stone wouldn’t make it worse. 

The memories were stronger, clearer, too. Now that your mental defences were slipping, your control over your powers was also fading. The images invaded your waking mind, all the death and burning destruction leaving you cold to the core. Tears formed in your eyes as the screams echoed in the silence. For the first time in your life, you found yourself praying for the darkness to take you and end your suffering. 

“Fancy a cuppa?”

“Go away. You aren’t real.”

The figment of your imagination, the echo from another time, laughed softly. “Is anything really?”

You weren’t in the mood to discuss metaphysics. Even on a good day, when your mind wasn’t being split in two by the burning poker of time and you weren’t trapped in an alien murderer’s prison, you wouldn’t have been too keen to dwell on the realities and truths of life. 

A chair scraped against the stone floor, the harsh scratch tearing you from your self pity. You shook your head. He wasn’t real. You’d noted already that the memories were growing stronger. This was just an extension of that, a hallucination brought on by extreme stress to the mind. And yet you couldn’t help but wonder… 

The painfully slow turn was enough to ignite another burst of synaptic eruptions inside your brain, wave after wave of sharp, burning flames speeding through your neurons. Closing your eyes did little to help but you found a tiny scrap of piece in watching the bright spots of colour pass over your vision. Just when you thought you couldn’t take it any longer, they finally faded away and left you feeling blissfully numb. 

Making good use of not feeling, you glanced over to the figment and took in as much as you could about his appearance. The outfit was new; casual and suited for somewhere hot. That wasn’t the biggest difference, even if it was the most obvious. No, it was the smaller details. Like his face: freshly shaven and lighter than you remembered. A gentle, wide eyed interest in his surroundings rather than a heavy sense of ownership. 

Your figment met your gaze, holding it in a way that he seemed to detest. It clearly made him uncomfortable, though. He shuffled awkwardly on his chair, ran his palms over the outside of his thighs as you sat in silence, waiting for the hallucination to disappear. 

Only it didn’t. 

“So, tea?” His lips lifted in a soft smile as he poured you a cup of tea, added one spoon of sugar and a dash of milk. He pressed his hand to the nearest panel of glass and it opened with a soft hiss, a cool breeze of fresh air rushing into your cell. O set the mug down across the threshold and nodded. “It’s not poisoned, promise.”

As if to prove his point, O poured himself a cup from the same teapot and took a long sip, eyes closed as he savoured the taste. You were hardly convinced that he was real let alone not plotting to kill you but the draw of something not grey and sludgy was too strong from your fragile mind. What little self control remained faltered at the sight of those yummy little biscuits you’d loved so much as a child. 

Too tired to feel the deep shame roll through your body, you crawled across your prison cell and carefully wrapped your hands around the mug. The shock of actually being able to touch the cup was almost too much and you immediately set it down to stop your shaking hands from dropping it. 

Not a hallucination, then. 

“I’m fine,” you breathed, a long moment later, feeling O’s gaze on your grimy skin. Gathering yourself, you lifted the cup to your lips. The warmth spread through your palms, immensely more pleasurable than the raging fire inside your mind, and the steam tickled your nose as you took that first glorious sip. You winced at the sweetness as it coated your tongue, such a drastically different taste to what you’d grown used to these past weeks. 

“Any good?”

You dared to look up from the ground and nodded stiffly. “Thank you.”

“Brought you some newspapers and new clothes. Figured you’d want to change out of those rags.” O reached beneath the chair and handed over a pile of goods. The dates on the papers ranged from 1683 to 4501 but they were all in pristine condition. ‘New clothes’ consisted of a flannel shirt and baggy cargo trousers. 

Without a care for your modesty, you began to strip. You tossed your dirty ones aside and wordlessly changed into the new clothes, surprised by their high quality. The dark flannel shirt drowned you, hanging to your knees and slipping off of your shoulders with each movement. It was soft and smelled good, though, like smoke and spice. It made you think of roasting food over a log fire, huddling up with someone beneath the moonlight and basking in its brilliant glow. Two things you imagined you wouldn’t ever get to do again. 

O’s gaze once again lingered on your skin and, although he looked away, flustered, each time you blankly met his reflection’s eyes you knew that the nervous bumbling was an act. Sweet, almost believable. Lord knows you wanted it to be real, for this not to be some elaborate trick. Unfortunately, life, you’d discovered, was not so kind as to give you what you wanted. 

As you sat back on the cold ground, O asked, “More tea?" 

He didn’t wait for a response, immediately reaching over to top up your mug. Attention flickering across to the newspapers, he asked, "You remember that?” The paper on the top of the pile read: _Saxon leads polls with 64 per cent. _“Before the world went mad and there were aliens everywhere.”__

__“There have always been aliens everywhere,” you pointed out, accepting the fresh cup of tea with automatic mumbled thanks. You adamantly refused to look down at the newspapers, convinced that this was some kind of trick. Those few words had already brought about the start of another sharp headache and you weren’t certain you could take anymore. “People were just too blind to look.”_ _

__“Were you?”_ _

__“I joined UNIT. Surely that answers your question.”_ _

__O sat back in his chair and nodded. He pushed his floppy fringe away from his eyes, thumb lingering over his temple. Almost exactly the same spot as your own piercing headache, you noted distantly. “I suppose it does. Did you like your job?”_ _

__“I was good at it. The best.”_ _

__“And yet they still laughed at you. They didn’t trust your abilities, did they?”_ _

__Setting the cup down, you said, “I know what you’re doing.”_ _

__His smile grew wider and colder. “Is it working?”_ _

__“Almost.” It would be a lie to argue otherwise. However you still weren’t ready to give up anything to him so changed the direction of the conversation with absolutely no subtlety. “Is it fun for you? Playing a character? Pretending to be someone else?”_ _

__The Master shrugged, bored. “Passes the time.”_ _

__“Does it make it hurt any less?”_ _

__Many different emotions flickered across his face then, most of all disbelief that, even in this state, you were able to read him in a way that no one else ever had. Anger quickly followed, in what you assumed was his natural defence to feeling anything other than in complete and absolute control of a situation. “What would you know of it?”_ _

__You leant back against the cool glass wall of your cell and stared up at the ceiling. “I’ve been inside your head. I know more than you realise.”_ _

__“You’re bluffing. If you actually knew anything you’d have shared it by now.”_ _

__You weren’t so far out of it to fall for that pathetic feed. Refusing to take the bite, you sat up, finished the rest of your drink and pushed the cup back towards him. “Thanks for the tea. If that’s everything…”_ _

__“Not quite."_ _

__Suddenly The Master was inside your cell. Too fast for you to react, he wrapped his hand around your throat, the fabric of your oversized shirt acting as a barrier beneath your flesh, and tilted your head to the side. His lips hovering above your ear, breath uncomfortably warm on your neck, he muttered, "You’re some kind of telepath, aren’t you?”_ _

__Utilising your wavering strength, you shoved him away. The Master stumbled back but more for dramatic effect than through any effort of your own. He was considerably stronger than you, there was no doubt. This was just another part of the game._ _

__As you rubbed your throat, you reluctantly admitted, “Technically, it’s called psychometry. I can read people’s memories when I touch them.”_ _

__“Yes, I know what it means.” The Master scratched the back of his neck, pacing back and forth in front of you. Each step set you further on edge, waiting for him to strike out like a cobra. He crouched down in front of you, studying you with a clinical intensity. “That doesn’t explain why -”_ _

__“Why what?”_ _

__He shook his head, huffing as if you were the biggest annoyance in the universe. “It’s none of your concern. I’ll work it out myself."_ _


	7. Chapter 7

The problem with being locked in an empty room - aside from the obvious - was that after a while your mind started to play tricks on you. Although, in truth, you weren’t so convinced that they were tricks anymore. Every day, the certainty grew and you knew without a doubt that this was your reality now. 

Hidden eyes watched you from the shadows, studied your every movement and took notes, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Well, you refused to give them anything. Instead of fighting, of screaming and shouting, demanding your freedom of the Devil, you sat stiffly, staring at the wall. 

The headaches grew worse. Sensory deprivation, most likely. The insufferable sound of your breathing, of fabric rustling, of static on the bloody speakers filling the void. It took a few days but the walls started to ripple, the thick impenetrable stone blocks shifting in the dim light, teasing an escape but never truly revealing one.

You lost yourself in your mind, refused to eat the sludge that returned, refused to even spare a glance at the biscuits that appeared one day. Nothing more than a bribe, a trick to get you to talk, you treated them as though they were poisoned, rotten to the core. In truth, you wouldn’t have been surprised if they actually were. 

Memories of childhood holidays to the mountains filled your mind, taking you away from this hell. The cool touch of the summer’s breeze against your skin, walking barefoot through rushing streams as you braved your way to the summit. Beautiful, open skies, laid back on the grass with your family around you, protecting you from the dangers of the night. Stars twinkled above your head, distant balls of burning gas, the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen. 

But a positive frame of mind is so easily shattered. Those wonderful moments of joy and family, sat around a campfire, were twisted into terrible nightmares. The faces of the people you loved burned, caught in the destruction and reduced to little more than smouldering corpses. The songs you’d sung drifted away, lost behind the screams and pleas for mercy. None came. 

It was almost a blessing to be torn from your dreams that night.

“When did you first get your abilities?”

You rolled over onto your back, discreetly wiping the tears from your cheeks. A pointless exercise; The Master would know even if you destroyed the evidence. He always did. 

“I’m getting tired of waiting, Agent. You know what happens when I get bored.”

In truth, you had no idea what happened when The Master got bored. For the past ten cycles, you had had almost no contact with your jailer at all. If the reports were anything to go by, spotty and incomplete as they were, The Master was obsessive when the mood struck. 

You supposed that you were lucky, in the most twisted way, that he was currently so stuck on researching your abilities. The moment that his specific fixation on you faded, you would no longer be of any use to him. A terrifying notion. 

In a fantasy world, he might let you go. Return you to the real world and let you spend the rest of your life checking over your shoulder, fearing for the day he would return. That would be the best case scenario. To say that you had considered worse options would be an understatement - your mind had been occupied with nothing else for days now. 

Fear creeping down your neck like a ghost hand, bony fingers closing around your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs, you scuttled back until you could feel the cool glass against you and stared at your favourite spot on the wall. “I was born with them.”

“Genetic engineering? Alien interference? A deal with the devil? Because you’re definitely human. Scanners confirmed as much and I just can’t avoid that awful smell. So what caused them?”

“I don’t know.” You clawed your fingers through your hair, not quite hard enough to tear it out from your skull but certainly with sufficient force to feel the sting. Perversely, it was grounding. It anchored you and provided a momentary distraction from the other searing pain in the base of your skull. “I don’t know. It’s just always been there.”

"Have a biscuit.“

"I don’t want a fucking biscuit!” Your outburst echoed around the empty room. It rang in your ears, sharp like nails on a chalkboard, long after you curled into yourself. Hidden underneath the oversized shirt, the checkered fabric providing a temporary shield, you whispered, “Please let me go.”

The response was immediate, resolute. “No." 

Some hours, or possibly days later - time lost all meaning when faced with an empty eternity of solitude - you woke to a fresh pot of tea and a pile of folded clothes in the corner of your cell. Weak from self imposed fasting, you were unable to resist the temptation. 

In a slow painful crawl, each movement igniting a fire within stiff joints, you crossed your prison and laid beside the offerings. You ran your fingers over the soft cotton fabrics, another oversized shirt and clean trousers. The colours were dull, faded purples, his colours, but anything was better than the sweaty, dirty things which currently hung from your shoulders. 

The effort of changing was too much. Shirt hanging, half buttoned, you collapsed in a heap on the ground. One cheek pressed against the cool stone floor, the other warmed by the heat radiating off the teapot. Your eyes drifted shut, the darkness a welcome friend now. 

"Get up.”

All you could do was groan.

“I said get up.”

You barely felt the sharp burn to your skull as The Master tugged you into a sitting position. He leant you up against the glass wall, disgust clear on his face. He poured you each a cup of tea - had there always been two mugs or were you just hallucinating again? - and pushed one towards you. “Drink it.”

“Too tired.”

“Didn’t ask. Don’t care. I need answers and your pathetic little body is dying. What you thought you could achieve with this stunt is beyond me. Just drink your tea and talk to your Master.”

The cup weighed a tonne to your exhausted arms but you gathered the last of your strength and lifted it to your lips, the warm, sweet liquid a godsend on your tongue. Your eyes drifted shut once more, savouring the taste, imagining being somewhere, anywhere else, on a normal tea break with a friend. 

Only after you emptied your cup did you dare glance to The Master. He watched you intently, his own tea cup barely touched by his side. You chuckled to yourself, mind already wandering. You were right all along. He had poisoned you. 

“That’s it,” he said, catching you as you slumped right. He shuffled over and sat beside you, propping your weight against his side. In the glass wall opposite, you saw your reflection and laughed once more. What a right pair you made. 

“Feeling better now?”

Your attention drifted to the corner of the room where a spider was making its web, a beautiful creation but one which you were grateful was trapped outside of your own inner cage. The pounding in your head began to ease slightly, your thoughts becoming curiously clearer as the drugs worked their magic. A small mercy considering your muscles stiffened, paralysed by the very same compound. “What was in that?”

“Tarcanian ginger. Works wonders on telepaths.”

“I’m not telepathic,” you murmured. 

“Yes, yes, psychometric, I know. Same difference. Should inhibit your abilities the same way. I’m not a fan of people digging around in my mind without permission and don’t want to risk the chance that you might try that lovely trick again.”

“I really don’t care.”

The Master grinned, the soft pat on your knee somehow incredibly threatening. “Keep telling yourself that, dear. Now, down to business, I think. Yes? Good. Why were you investigating me at UNIT?”

“You know that already.”

“Indulge me.”

You’d have rolled your eyes if you had the energy to spare. Vaguely aware of how comfortable The Master’s shoulder was - a thought you were quick to shove away, no doubt a product of the Tarcanian ginger - you answered as if giving a report to a senior officer. “MI6 has an official policy that aliens don’t exist but accept that they do in private. When agents start shooting their mouths off about them, UNIT are called in. O - you - got careless. Every file about The Doctor is monitored and access is flagged. Did you want to get caught?”

“But why you, specifically?”

“I told you before. I am sent to do preliminary readings on targets to determine risk and motive.”

“What did you see?”

It took you a moment to realise what he meant. Most likely the combination of his brain speeding off at a thousand miles an hour and yours dragging along, tired and muddled by the tea. “I saw planets on fire. Cities burning. People dying.”

“You saw Gallifrey.”

“If you say so.” The name was familiar: The Doctor’s, and consequently The Master’s, home planet. It was in the files but there were, obviously, no picture records or anything more than the vague details which the Timelords had chosen to share. You’d have to trust his word that the domed city you saw was what he claimed. “You watched your home burn?”

He laughed harshly, almost hysterically, each burst like sandpaper on an open wound. “It was never my home. They cast me out at a young age.”

“I’m sorry." 

You received only cold, hard silence as a response. 

The sharp pain in your head had almost vanished entirely now. For the first time in weeks, you were free, however temporarily, of the constant drum beat pounding behind your eyes. A glorious reprieve that left you floating on air. "I saw Earth, too. You said before, a timeline that didn’t exist.”

“Now that was a great year.”

“You enslaved humanity. Killed billions.”

“As I said: a great year. And don’t exaggerate. It was only one tenth of the population. Hardly billions. They all came back to life in the end, anyway. None the wiser. Except you.”

“Why do you keep saying that? I don’t remember that year. I only saw your memories.”

The Master suddenly shoved you away, dull waves pulsing through your skull as you hit the ground. “You’re still lying to me. I know that you saw more than that.”

No matter how hard you willed your body to right itself, to push yourself up from the ground and maintain a slither of dignity, you could not. Stuck on the ground, you let your eyes fall shut and hoped that The Master couldn’t feel your fear. Before, although weak, you’d always had a chance of fighting back. Small, negligible and almost doomed to fail up against his superior strength but there had still been a chance. Now, though, drugged and practically paralysed, you were completely at his mercy. 

“The drums,” you breathed, the cursed pattern springing to mind as he locked your cell once again. The Master paused, hand hovering over the invisible panel momentarily. Curious, you realised. Desperate not to waste the opportunity, you asked, “What were they?”

“A message.”

“From who?”

His expression twisted into something horrendous, anger and hatred and betrayal dripping from every sharp line on his face. “The High Council of Gallifrey.”

“What did they want?”

The Master inhaled slowly but the calm facade shattered almost instantly. A manic grin spread across his face, the last thing you saw before he turned away and left you alone, in the darkness, once again.


	8. Chapter 8

Even though it was technically poison, you had to admit that the Tarcanian ginger tea was really rather nice. The rich, spicy liquid soothed your throat and after a few days your body became immune to the paralytic effects. Not that you exercised your new found ability to move. No, instead you just sat in the corner of your cell, flicking slowly through the newspapers that had been your only real company for weeks now. 

You had memorised practically every word, knew each story in detail. Affection blossomed for the printed faces, people long dead or even yet to be born, and you entertained - distracted - yourself by creating elaborate back stories for them all. Since they had never touched the papers you weren’t able to pull their memories from the words but your over active yet starved imagination was quite content to do the heavy lifting instead. 

Cycles continued to blur into one another as The Master drifted in and out of the vault, stopping for short random interrogations in the middle of the night before disappearing back into the dark. His intrusions left you permanently tired, never able to reach deep sleep, and always on edge knowing that he came and went as he pleased but your sleepy answers earned you food and clean clothes so you had stopped complaining. 

The ginger had also made a marked improvement on your headaches and you’d even begun to rebuild your mental walls, able to block out the worst of the apparitions and ghosts from The Master’s memories. You were never truly alone, their voices constantly whispering in your ear, the drums a permanent call from a planet you didn’t know, but they were quieter now. Easier to ignore. 

Waking today, you were greeted by another pot of tea (cold) and a slightly more surprising view: The Master sat in the corner of the vault, surrounded by thick piles of books. He flicked through the pages at an incredible speed, searching them for reference of abilities like yours then literally tossing them aside when they failed to provide any useful information. 

The Master showed no notion of awareness that you were awake so you watched him silently for a while. His jacket had long since been tossed aside; you couldn’t even spot it inside the prison. The buttons on his waistcoat were mismatched and the sleeves of his dark blue shirt were rolled up to his elbows - although one was notably higher than the other. Curiously, his shoes were also nowhere to be seen. 

In his eyes, there was a mania, an obsessive nature pushing him forward in his research. It was disconcerting to say the least. It was one thing to be held prisoner by a murderous alien lord. It was a different beast entirely to be held by one who appeared to be on the verge of a psychotic breakdown. 

You lifted your gaze to the sky, unable to watch his frantic behaviour any longer. Above, on the single window, rain trickled down across the pane. It was a trick of some kind, controlled by The Master like the morning sun and shining moon. Even so, you found the change remarkably peaceful, the soft patter of drops on the glass deeply relaxing. 

At least they were until, suddenly, they weren’t. Each drip became a constant reminder that you were trapped in here, probably until you died a horrible death at The Master’s hand or he simply left you there to rot away in a living death, never able to feel the sun on your face or the rain on your skin ever again. 

Exhausted, aching, you felt the fight drain out of you. It had been a long time coming but some switch flicked in that moment and you just couldn’t take it anymore. The Master’s passive aggressive treatment of the books was tangible - technically a lot more than passive, if the dent in the wall was anything to go by - and you feared how long it would take for him to turn his anger on you. 

This was all a part of his game, you had no doubt. His presence here only served to remind you that he held all the power and you were useless to fight his whims. After weeks, months, of holding on to hope, you watched the last spark vanish from your expression, the reflection in the glass paling as you gave in to your inevitable fate. 

Head lolling against the barrier, you turned to The Master and asked, “Why are you here?”

His head shot up, murder in his eyes. “Don’t you know?”

“Psychometric, not telepathic,” you reminded him for the hundredth time.

The Master waved his hand dismissively. Somehow simultaneously paying you no attention at all and staring deep into the furthest recesses of your broken soul, his fingers twitched in the air, an uncontrolled, instinctive action. He tapped his forehead and you recognised the rhythm immediately. “The drums.”

For the first time, you truly felt concerned for your safety. This was far from his usual behaviour. There had always seemed some meaning behind his madness. But this? This was practically unhinged. Gently, almost scared to speak for fear of setting him off, you asked, “What about them?”

“They’re quieter in here. Telepathic block on the vault. The tea helps too.”

You’d considered that a lot over the past days. While it was nice to believe that the Tarcanian ginger was the solution to this problem, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was far more going on here. “It’s not a new telepathic message, though. It’s a memory. Mental blocks don’t work that way. They only weaken active powers. The tea shouldn’t touch the passive linkways that are already in place.”

He narrowed his eyes but knew you were right. Tossing the book in his hand aside, The Master grumbled, “You aren’t clever.”

“I’m not stupid, either. The pain in my head eases when you’re near. It’s a pattern and we should be trying to find out what could cause that.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing all week? Twiddling my thumbs?”

“This affects us both. Let me help.”

The furious flicking of pages stopped momentarily then continued. “In return for what?”

So desperate to leave your cage, you almost agreed to help for nothing. But then you thought about it for a moment and realised that The Master needed another pair of eyes on this. That much was obvious from his current, frenzied behaviour. He recognised that you were doing him a service, however grudgingly, and he still held enough of a moral code to have to repay you for that. 

Not wanting to push your luck, you kept your requests to an absolute minimum. After all, if he agreed to those, there was a chance that you could renegotiate later. “A real bed. Proper food. You stop messing with the sleeping schedule and you let me out of this cage.”

“It’s already set on a twenty six and a half hour cycle. Has been for weeks.”

“The other things?”

He paused, searching your face for something. You didn’t know what. At that point, you didn’t particularly care either. Whatever he found, it cemented his decision. With a sharp nod, he said, “Fine.”

“Let me out, then.”

The Master groaned and made a huge show of getting up to open the door. He tugged on his waistcoat, realising perhaps for the first time that he didn’t look as immaculate as usual, and strode over to your inner cell with a terrifying purpose. His hand hovered over the invisible lock as he met your gaze. 

He might have been unshaven, his hair stuck out at bizarre angles and clearly wearing last week’s clothes, but there was still a dangerous alertness in his eyes. “I will snap your pretty little neck if you try anything.”

You nodded sharply. “Understood.”

By the grace of the universe, the door clicked open. You took a step towards freedom and felt his hand curl around your throat. His fingertips pressed bruisingly into your windpipe, a wicked smile spread across his face. “Do not test me.”

You clawed futilely at his wrist, lungs burning from lack of oxygen. Only when you bright, spotty stars filled your vision and your body went limp did he release his hold. You hit the ground with a thud, landed awkwardly on your wrist but the constant pulsing was the least of your worries. 

Stumbling after The Master, he tossed a book at you - he clipped your cheek with the sharp edge; not an accident, you suspected - and returned his attention to the precariously built book fort around him. “Sit down then. Get to work.”


	9. Chapter 9

The robot stared at you with unblinking blue eyes, its metal lips pulled back in a pained smile. It stood frozen in the corner of the room, watching, waiting for a chance to attack. You searched the creepy face for any sign of threat, finding it in every single perfectly waxed plate and precise joint. 

It appeared out of nowhere, teleported straight into your vault without warning and woke you from your fitful sleep. The Master had left to gather more materials for your research and clearly gotten sidetracked so you'd taken the opportunity to get some rest. But now you wished more than ever that the Timelord was here with you to explain the sudden appearance of the surprisingly well dressed droid. 

You were almost tempted to take a closer look, to properly examine the dark velvet jacket and curiously old fashioned cap, but could not command your muscles to move. Something about its empty smile and the eerie technological glow of its eyes in the shadows left you deeply unnerved.

Was this some kind of surveillance guard, a robot designed to watch you while he wasn't around? Record your movements and alert him to any sudden gestures? You certainly wouldn't put it past The Master. He had to be one of the most paranoid men in the universe; of course he would be concerned that you were planning some kind of ill fated escape attempt when his back was turned. 

(It was a pointless endeavour. Even with your recovering strength, you stood no chance at overpowering The Master and it was beyond foolish to attempt any kind of grand escape when you'd reached an almost level ground with the Timelord. Yes, you were still a prisoner, still subject to his manic moods, but you suspected that the safest place to be right now was by his side. So long as you complied with his demands, your life was safe.)

It stretched out its arms and you instinctively drew away, not trusting for a moment that it wasn't about to try and snap your neck. The air between its clumsy metallic hands shimmered and a large red box appeared. At the same moment, The Master slunk back into your prison. His gaze flittered between you, ridiculously tense, and the robot, equally as stiff, and a small smirk crossed his face. 

"Delivery for The Master."

"That would me." He strode over to the robot and patted it on the cheek. In perfect unison with what you now realised was nothing more than an automated space postman, he said, "If you want it, Kablam it."

It would almost be sweet if not for the vicious smile on his face. 

The moment his fingers curled around the corner of the box - which had more than tripled in size - the robot disappeared with a bright blue flash. The Master, a pile of books precariously tucked beneath one arm, balanced the delivery against the cell wall and then retook his position in the corner of the vault, surrounded by the growing fortress of ancient texts. 

"Did you seriously get bored and impulse buy some crap from space Amazon?"

The Master narrowed his eyes in your direction, adjusting the cushions beneath him. Those were a recent addition, brought into the vault a few days ago after The Master suddenly lost his hyper focus and decided that sitting on the cold, hard ground was degrading. Naturally, when he returned, there were only enough pillows for himself. "If you don't want it, I'll send it back."

You frowned, uncertain how this had suddenly become about you. "What?"

"You wanted a bed. I got you a bed. You'll have to assemble it yourself. The instructions should have pictures so you shouldn't hurt yourself by thinking too hard."

"You're such a prick." 

He smirked, obviously proud of himself. "Say thank you."

Through gritted teeth, each word like acid on your tongue, you said, "Thank you, Master."

The parcel - distinctly no longer a small box and far more resembling a piece of IKEA flatpack furniture - was heavy and cumbersome to move but The Master gave you nothing other than a smile by way of assistance. With no help from your jailor come reluctant partner, you set all the pieces out and then realised that you were missing one very important thing: a tool with which to lock it together. 

You turned to The Master and found him watching you with a cross between curiosity and amusement. Hands on hips, a desperate, and ultimately futile, attempt at clutching at a sense of authority, you said, "I need a screwdriver."

"You think I'd be foolish enough to give you something sharp and pointy?" 

That was, all considering, an incredibly fair point. You knew, despite your reservations, that if given the chance you would absolutely stab The Master in the back. Be it with a screwdriver, a bread knife or a pencil, he deserved nothing less after everything that he'd put you through.

"So how am I supposed to put it together?"

He scoffed. "Humans! You never read the instructions. It's polymorphic smart plastic. The parts slot into place and they bond instantly." 

With that helpful advice, you set about building your new bed. As per your agreement, The Master had removed the central cell so the glass walls were gone but the central platform remained. A series of lights on the ceiling followed the outline of where the panels had stood and, although grateful for the new, softer lighting, you couldn't help but suspect that they had an ulterior purpose. Another form of containment barrier, no doubt. 

Section by section, you lugged the disassembled bed frame into the centre of the vault and began construction. You spent a good ten minutes trying to force the first two pieces of the bed frame into place before realising your mistake. Once you turned the instructions the right way up assembly proceeded at a far faster rate. 

The bed ended up far larger than you had expected, big enough for at least three people - a remarkable step up from sleeping on the cold, solid ground. Or, it would be, if there was a mattress to sit atop the frame. 

"I think you missed something," you said, crouching down beside The Master. 

He was surrounded by scrolls that not just looked ancient but felt it too. There was tangible history to them, an air of mystery in the beautiful symbols that lined the pages. Before your eyes, the pictograms became legible, English words. You traced your finger across the scratchy paper and earned a slapped wrist for your troubles. 

"Don't touch that," he scowled.

"It's in English."

"No, it's classical Grecloation. The telepathic circuits…" The Master stopped and waved his hand dismissively. "Never mind. You wouldn't understand. What do you want?"

You gestured towards the bed and The Master asked if you wanted a gold star for managing to do in two hours what an unskilled monkey could have managed in half that time. Your turn to scowl, you said, "I can't use the bed if there's no mattress or bedding."

"You asked for a bed."

"And that typically includes the necessary others!"

"Be more specific next time." The Master grabbed a fat, leather bound book and slapped it against your chest. The impact knocked the wind out of you but he paid little attention as you doubled over, gasping for breath. Instead, he returned his focus to the silk scroll in his hand and muttered, "Find something useful and I'll get you one delivered. Okay?"

Clutching the exquisitely bound volume, you sunk down the nearest wall and sighed. There was no point arguing, especially seeing how The Master had agreed to find a mattress - although the caveat of needing to find something 'useful' left you concerned; you hadn't found anything remotely helpful or informative in days of searching. 

You opened the book at the index page and scanned the contents, pouring yourself a fresh cup of tea. Somehow, the pot was still warm after all these hours and you barely winced at the sharp taste of the Tarcanian ginger. "You want some?"

It took The Master a long few seconds to realise that your question was directed at him. "What?"

"I asked if you wanted any tea."

He regarded you suspiciously, unable to fathom why you were offering him a drink. There was literally no way you could have poisoned it but he still turned his nose up at the pot as if you had. "No." 

More for you, then. With a shrug, you started on the book. It was only after you read the same line for the twelfth time - whichever species was responsible for writing this particular book had a horrendous way with words - did you realise that The Master was still staring at you. 

"Will you please stop that?" you asked, the false bravado faltering to reveal the genuine terror you felt at being sized up like this. Despite being the subject of his attention for weeks - months - now, you had never felt quite so uncomfortable under The Master's stare as you did now. It was as if he were seeing straight through you, deep into your mind, your soul, and latching on to the furthest corners of your being. 

"Why did you offer me tea?"

"Because it's the polite thing to do. Force of habit."

"Don't do it again."

You pursed your lips and bit back whatever sharp retort you'd been about to spit. Getting into an argument with The Master was a bad idea, you knew, even over something as stupid as this. You muttered a quiet apology. "I'll try not to."

Hours ticked by and you made very little progress into the thick volume. There was no real way to tell how much time had passed but you made a valiant guess based on how loudly your stomach rumbled. 

After it gurgled for the fifth time in as many minutes, The Master slammed his scroll down on the ground and hissed, "Can you not?"

"It's not something I can control. I'm hungry. We've been at this for days, there are no more biscuits and the last thing you bought me to eat was burned toast. I thought we'd established that humans need regular sustenance."

"That's what the sludge was for."

You groaned, unable to decide what was more bothersome: having to eat that depressing grey muck again or that you were so hungry that you were almost excited by the prospect. Head tilted to the ceiling, praying for some god to hear you through the thick stone walls of the vault, you said, "I just want a takeaway."

"Fairly sure that no one will deliver here."

A sharp pain filled your chest. All this time, you'd never once considered that you would be anywhere other than on Earth but the way he was speaking… The walls of the large room suddenly seemed to close in on you, squeezing the air from the room. "Where is here?"

"Middle of the outback."

You let out a near hysterical laugh, every drop of panic evaporating instantly. Still Earth, then. That was fine. Of course, that meant that your chances of mounting your very own great escape were even slimmer than you had imagined - for all your tenacity, surviving in the outback with no sense of where you were and no supplies was not going to be easy - but a tiny slither of hope remained. 

Settling against the stone wall, you tugged on the oversized shirt and made yourself as comfortable as possible. Legs curled up to your chest, you rested your chin on your knees and watched The Master until he finally met your gaze. "I'm still hungry," you said.

"Remind me again why I'm not just killing you now?"

"You need my help." As sure as you sounded, you knew that it was a very tenuous reason for him to keep you around. Aware of how thin the ice beneath your feet truly was, you muttered, "Please. You must have your ways. I'll settle for some egg fried rice and sweetcorn soup."

"You'll settle for whatever you're given," he grumbled. When The Master returned a few minutes later, he dropped the bag of food in your lap, filled to the brim with a multitude of dishes, and then pointedly ignored you for the rest of the evening.


	10. Chapter 10

"Are there any more tuna nigiri?" 

The Master eyed the large platter of sushi that sat on the bed between you and then stabbed the last tuna roll with his chopstick. It split under the force but that didn't stop him from wrapping his lips around the small roll, chewing it obnoxiously as you watched on in despair. He snapped the already splintering chopstick as he swallowed, an annoying grin on his face. "Not any more. Plenty of cucumber maki, though."

You smiled through gritted teeth, taking a bite of the depressingly dull cucumber roll with as much positivity as you could muster. It was pointless to complain, really. After all, these past few days with The Master hadn't actually been that bad. In fact, you might even say that they were better than ever. 

Despite finding nothing in the books and scrolls about your powers or the mental link between you, he found you a mattress for the bed frame and acquired a new takeaway every day. You spent your days curled up on opposite ends of the large bed (him surrounded by pillows, up against the headboard, and you stretched across the foot of the bed) and had begun to almost enjoy his continued presence. Almost. 

It was… complicated. 

Little things, like the way he scoffed at thinly veiled religious slants in supposedly scientific journals or ranted about people who had been dead for centuries, captured your interest in a way no one else ever had. When he read mention of a doctor - not specifically The Doctor, just any - a very distinct expression crossed his face; lots of anger but also, curiously, a deep sadness. It made you want to reach out and comfort him, to ease his sorrows. 

It was incredibly annoying, really. You wanted more than anything to hate him after how he had ruined your life, locked you away and kept you a prisoner to his whims. But at the same time, you couldn't deny that you were intrigued by him. You wanted to know him, to explore his mind more intimately and understand the madness. 

In other circumstances, you wondered whether you could have been friends with The Master - or, at least, whatever passed for a close relationship with the man. You admired his intelligence (the smug attitude which came with it was, at times, incredibly annoying but perhaps hard won and deserved) and his dark sense of humour aligned well with your own. He spoke of burning the universe, of standing above the ruins and laughing, but you knew it held his interest and to see it through his eyes would have been fascinating. 

Plus, he looked great in a waistcoat and tartan was not a look that every man could pull off. He, however, managed to do so with annoying charm. 

So, yes, complicated didn't even begin to touch on how you felt about him right now. However, while he treated you with a modicum of respect, you weren't about to try and rattle the status quo. You still believed that the fastest way to earn your freedom was by working with him and that stabbing him in the back would do little to secure your release. (At times like this, though, when he stole something as sacred as the last tuna roll, it was difficult to reign in your rage.)

"I was thinking," you said, chewing on another cucumber roll. They really weren't that bad, actually. Nowhere near as exciting as the vindaloo curry yesterday - it had not agreed with The Master and he had, for a few long hours, curled up against the headboard complaining that he was dying - but still infinitely better than the grey sludge.

"I didn't know humans were capable of such a thing."

"Prick." 

He merely smirked, taking great pleasure in being able to rile you up with such ease. You chose to interpret his silence as permission to continue so pushed yourself upright and folded your legs beneath you. "We clearly aren't getting anywhere by reading these books."

"What would you suggest we do instead?"

Taken aback by his willingness to hear you out, you wasted no time in voicing your thoughts. There was no telling when, or whether, The Master would be this open again. "We should consider that this is a unique phenomena. None of these texts refer to humans or Timelords so it seems pointless to try and find our answers there. This all began because I read you. My powers connected our minds, opened your memories and drew out… something. I think -"

"No."

"You didn't let me finish."

"Didn't need to. I know what you're about to suggest and the answer is no."

You threw your hands in the air, respect for The Master crumbling once more. "See reason, for god's sake! The only way to work out what happened is to let me read you again and pay closer attention to which memories get drawn to the surface." 

He narrowed his eyes and you shuddered at the dark, deep set lines across his features. "We are not digging around my memories for answers."

"Why not? They might have the answer!"

"We will find the answer elsewhere."

"Look, I know that we -"

Suddenly on top of you, The Master used his entire weight to slam you down against the mattress. His fingers curled around your throat, pressing tightly against your windpipe. A manic look in his eye, the kind which had been pleasantly absent for the past week, he hissed, "You don't know anything. You are an insignificant pest with delusions of importance. I should have killed months ago."

Bright stars crept across your vision but you made no attempt to fight him off. It was pointless. You'd suffered through this humiliation before and it always ended the same way. The Master was too strong to deter and his rage flared too brightly to risk truly angering him. Despite how it seemed, this was barely more than annoyance. If he truly meant to kill you, he would expend as little effort doing it as possible. You knew that because you'd asked.

Instead, you laid back, closed your eyes and counted the seconds until you either passed out or The Master gave in. You made it to twelve before the pressure on your throat softened and cool air rushed into your lungs. He did not remove his hand from your neck, the warning still clear. Although your freedom to breathe was somewhat restricted by his weight on your chest, you found this a far more preferable option to being strangled. 

Staring up at The Master, you were struck by the absolute emptiness of his expression. You'd expected distaste, irritation or even boredom. To find no emotions at all was both terrifying and concerning. It was a complete disconnect from your shared situation and perhaps life in general. More than ever you wished to understand what he had suffered to make him this way but knew that it was not the time for such questions. 

"Please get off of me," you groaned. "We won't solve anything this way."

He held your gaze for a long moment, brown eyes darker than ever, before slowly pulling back his hand. Your ribcage breathed a sigh of relief as he swung his legs off you and over the edge of the bed. Following his gaze to the vault door, vaguely aware that it was ajar and you could potentially make a run for it, you said slowly, "If there are memories you don't want to relive, you can stop me from seeing them."

"If I open my past, you must do the same."

"What? Why?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you."

The Master rose to his feet and tugged on the base of his waistcoat, expression level and without any indication of his earlier outburst. It was as disconcerting as when his face was a blank state. Chances were high that you could reason with a sane man but one so disconnected from reality? You had no idea. 

You caught his wrist as he stepped off the central platform but immediately pulled back before he could slap you. "What does my past have to do with anything?"

He tapped his fingers against his side, a rhythm of four. Your entire body deflated. Of course that was why. Much to his surprise, you nodded in agreement. "Fine. Doors open both ways. I suppose it's only fair."

"Fairness has nothing to do with it. I want answers and you will give me them."

His blunt, almost brutish attitude went straight over your head. In the first days of your captivity you might have rolled over and done what he'd demanded but no you were so used to the threats with no follow through that you were beginning to wonder if he would ever actually act against you. All talk and no action, The Master was. 

Leaning back against the mattress, you asked, "Why not just take them, then? Timelords are telepathic. You could search my mind at any point. You don't need my permission."

"Agency matters," he murmured. "And submission is all the sweeter when given freely. It will take a few days for the effects of the Tarcanian ginger to wear off. I'll return when it is time."

"You're going?"

For some reason, the thought of being locked alone in the vault for days bothered you more than it probably should have done. The truth was solitude did not suit you well at all and… you'd gotten used to The Master's company. You almost enjoyed his presence as you shared in your futile task hunting for information. It made it easier to forget how little control you had over your life anymore.

The Master smiled knowingly. "Don't miss me too much."

"Master…"

He paused at the door, fingers tapping impatiently against the thick metal plate. "What?"

"Can we have tacos for dinner tomorrow?"

"Are they better or worse than sushi?" 

"You'll have to try them to make up your own mind."

The Master's lips twitched, visibly holding back a smirk at your attempt to bait him into sharing his company. He shifted his weight between his feet, appearing to consider the options despite having clearly already made a decision. 

Whatever that choice was, he decided not to share it with you until the next day when he strode in carrying a large platter of Mexican foods. He set them in the centre of your bed, the rich smells utterly intoxicating, and took a bite from the nearest taco. 

You hid your thrill at his return through the much needed distraction of eating and asked, "Well? What do you think?"

"I've tasted far worse," he admitted. The Master shifted on the bed so that he was up against the headboard beside you. He stole the pillows which kept you upright but did leave you with one. A kindness if ever you'd seen one.

Not meeting one another's gaze, you stared out across the vault at the door as you ate in silence. Three tacos, two quesadillas and a whole host of salsas later, The Master swung his legs off your bed and said sternly, "I do not enjoy your company."

"And I do not enjoy yours," you replied, compiling the lie further. "Vietnamese tomorrow?"

"What makes you think I'll come back?"

"Just a hunch." You shrugged and opened a book, flicking through the pages without taking in a single word. The vault was so quiet that for a long moment you assumed that he had already left. Naturally, you were surprised to look up and find The Master still standing there beside your bed. "What?"

"Ask me."

"Ask you what?"

"You know what."

Your head dropped to your chest before you collected your pride and refocused on him. Sweetly, almost enough to make you feel sick, you asked, "Master, would you please come back tomorrow?"

"No," he grinned, all but skipping out the vault. 

When he returned the next day, you weren't surprised at all.


	11. Chapter 11

“You’re back. And you brought pizza.”

The Master raised an eyebrow, his tone drier than the Sahara desert. “Was it the smell or the giant words on the side of the box that gave it away?”

You tucked your legs beneath you, careful to keep your feet tucked beneath a fluffy blanket. The vault was cooler than normal today by at least a few degrees. Changes weren’t uncommon seeing how The Master still took joy in messing around with the settings to see how long it took for you to realise but this was a hugely noticeable adjustment. It could only be bad news if he was returning to his earlier behaviour. 

Eyeing the box cautiously, your distrust almost comfortably overwhelmed by your salivating at the incredible smell, you asked, “Why did you get pizza?”

“You like it.” The Master launched himself onto the bed, jumping almost six feet to land perfectly (give or take a minor wobble) and dropped the takeaway box in front of you. He was like a cat, you realised. This strange behaviour reminded you of an old tabby you’d known who would excited invade your space then offer you a gift of a dead bird before digging its claws into your legs. God how you hoped that he wouldn’t want you to pet him or stroke his hair. As if this truce between you wasn’t strange enough already. 

Misreading the confused, possibly disturbed expression on your face as you pictured the Timelord with cute little ears and a tail, The Master clarified, “You do like it, don’t you?”

“Yes… But you hated it. The last time we had it, you called it chewy and threw it against the wall to see if it stuck.”

“You have an annoying good memory for obscure details.”

“That was the most dramatic response to pizza I have ever seen. Trust me when I say it was unforgettable.” Flicking open the lid, you breathed in the fantastic smell. This wasn’t just any take out; you knew great quality when you saw it. A traditionally cooked oven base, the finest ingredients. The whole works. That could only mean one thing. “You want something.”

He shot you a look of disappointment which almost had you curling up beneath the covers for safety. “I always want something. I thought you were smarter than that.”

One day, The Master would just give you a piece of information without needing to go through the whole charade of having you work it out for yourself. Today, unfortunately, was clearly not that day. So, you did the only thing you could and took the bait he was dangling in front of you. 

Tearing a slice of pizza free, it was difficult not to chuckle at how horrified The Master appeared as you ate it. Just to make him squirm a little more, you stretched the cheese as far it would go and kept an intense eye contact the entire time. You were honestly quite surprised that he didn’t just knock the pizza from your hand and send it hurtling across the vault; he was bloody close to doing that, judging by how his fingers twitched against the mattress. 

A sense of victory filled you as he turned away, unable to watch any longer. “Must humans be so disgusting?”

“Yes,” you retorted, reaching down for another slice. “It’s part of our charm.”

The Master slapped your hand away once, twice, three times before his temper flared and he grabbed your wrist and slammed it against the headboard. You winced at the impact but were smart enough not to struggle. “I’m not in the mood for your games.”

In this position, the Timelord loomed over you and he felt twice as solid, twice as dangerous than usual. It reminded you of how imposing he’d been when he first took you prisoner here, before you’d started to chip away at the many walls which he hid behind, back when he considered you little more than an annoying pest. In all truth, that probably hadn’t changed but you had thought you’d been making progress. 

Your gaze flickered between his dark eyes and the hand curled tightly around your wrist, wondering whether you should point out the obvious or wait for him to figure it out. Quick to decide, fearing you had already pushed his patience beyond its limits today, you said quietly, “The effects of the tea haven’t worn off yet.”

“What?”

You glanced back to where he touched you and watched as his eyes widened in understanding. The Master released your wrist, both of your attentions on the bright marks on your skin. They were already fading but it you could still see them clear as day. He offered no apology but awkwardly rubbed his fingers together before he turned his back to you and muttered, “Humans are so fragile.”

“Maybe not as much as you’d think.” 

This was hardly the worst you’d suffered at The Master’s hand but for some reason it hurt more than you could explain. You pulled the sleeve of your shirt down over the offending marks and forced a smile onto your face. The Master saw straight through your attempt but, as he surely knew, it was easier to move forward behind the shield of a mask than to wear your emotions plainly. 

Silence hung heavily between you after that, broken only by the uncomfortable chewing noises as you devoured more of the pizza. If you were going to sit here miserably, you may as do it on a full stomach. Sadly, less than a third of the way through the slice in your hand, the tension in his shoulders became too much to bear and you had to act. 

Setting the pizza box on the ground, you shifted on the bed so you were facing his back and very cautiously touched his arm. “Talk to me, Master.”

“Why should I?”

“Because, despite current appearances, you aren’t a petulant little child. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He shrugged your hand aside but answered nonetheless. “The slow path is annoyingly... slow.”

“Slow path? What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean? I am used to being able to jump between points of interest on the timelines. I cannot remember the last time I had to _wait_.” He spat the world like it was something dirty, as if he was above the very notion. “I bet there’s another version of me out there laughing as I sit here, trapped on this bloody planet. Again.”

You tried to imagine what that sort of life could be like but were unable to picture an existence outside of linear time. Time travel was a hard enough concept to wrap your mind around as it was. The possibility of simultaneously existing in multiple parts of time and space were complicated beyond your ability to understand. 

“Why can’t you just jump ahead to the interesting parts now, then?”

“Because you’re here.”

“How is this my fault?”

The Master groaned and the mattress creaked as he pushed himself off it. Hands shoved impossibly deep into the pockets of his jacket, he said, “It’s all your fault! Until your powers come back, I am stuck waiting for answers.”

“So just jump forward to when the tea has worn off.”

“Aren’t you listening? The TARDIS can move through time all she likes but that does no good when you’re inside it.” That was a shock, that you had spent this entire time trapped in his ship but, at the same time, it wasn’t that unexpected. Where else would he hide you away? “Our timelines are independent to those in the rest of the universe so we’re stuck on our slow path, waiting for your pathetic body to expel the rest of the Tarcanian ginger.”

Uneasy as the prospect made you, there was one obvious solution that The Master had missed. “Why not just drop me outside and then jump forward a few days? If I’m not on the TARDIS then our timelines separate, surely?”

He laughed harshly at the suggestion, although you couldn’t fathom why. Shaking his head, The Master said, “And let you run away?”

“You’d find me anyway.”

“True. But no. We’re not doing that.”

“Why not? If the waiting bothers you so much, it’s the simplest solution. Plus, you said we’re in the outback. Where exactly would I go? What’s the harm, really? Unless…” You mentally facepalmed. A few months in this stone prison and all of your training was slipping. How stupid of you not to have noticed it before. “This isn’t about me at all.”

The Master froze in his pacing and stiffly turned towards you. “Of course it is.”

“No, it isn’t. You’re stalling. This bond between us… It scares you.”

“I don’t fear the things I can’t explain. That is a human trait.”

You had to be close if he was falling back on insults. Pushing through, regardless of how dangerous, you asked, “What do you think you’ll see? Is it seeing your past incarnation that bothers you? Guilt? Regret? Something to do with Gallifrey? Is it -”

“Stop talking!” All that tension inside The Master’s body burst out as he punched the stone wall of your vault. A string of pained curses followed in a series of languages you could never hope to identify, however the sentiment behind them was clear. Anger. Betrayal. Sadness. 

“Come here.”

“No.”

“Master, come here.” 

He stood stiff as a statue and the seconds which passed seemed to stretch for an eternity before he finally turned. The Master held your gaze for a long moment then crossed the vault heavily, visibly in protest. It was difficult to not be irritated by his stubbornness but you held your sharp retort and waited patiently for him to sit on the edge of your bed. 

Taking a gentle hold of his wrist, with far more care than he had grabbed you earlier, you turned his hand over and sighed at the damage. The Master flinched as you traced your fingers over the bones of his hand, checking for breaks. Thankfully, despite the forceful hit, you found no sign of serious damage. Still, the skin across his knuckles split and dark blood trickled down his hand. 

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“What does it matter?”

You sighed, feeling almost foolish for caring so much. Maybe The Master deserved it, maybe he didn’t. Either way, you couldn’t ignore the concern you felt when you looked at his pitiful expression. You wiped the blood from his knuckles using the edge of your sleeve, touch light as you cleaned his skin. “I didn’t mean to hit a nerve. I’m sorry.”

“Forget about it.”

“How long until the effects of the ginger wear off?”

He shrugged. “If it doesn’t wear off in a day or two, we’ll resort to other options.”

“And what exactly do those other options entail?”

“You don’t want to know. Enjoy the rest of your pizza.” Despite his unspoken goodbye, The Master didn’t move. It took you far too long to realise why. “You’re still holding my hand.”

“I… Yeah. I am.”

“Why?”

“I don’t really know. Sorry. You should… You should go. Maybe if I sleep it will help expel the ginger faster.” You uncurled your fingers and drew back, an unpleasant emptiness as you lost the warmth of his skin on yours. As The Master pushed himself up once again and headed towards the exit, you muttered, “Thank you for the pizza.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

For a brief moment, when he turned back, you were blown away by how much like O he appeared. Everything about him was softer, from his posture and expression to the very air around him. So very… approachable. Kind. 

Only, this time, instead of being a tool for manipulation or a trick of some kind, The Master seemed genuinely touched. It was disconcerting, honestly, but you’d spend the past months searching for evidence that there was more to him that then sociopathic front and there it was. What you would do with that information, though, you had no idea.


	12. Chapter 12

The twin red suns warmed his face, filled him with peace as he stared up into the sky, dreaming of distant planets and alien species. All the adventures on the horizon with his best friend, the trouble they could make together. The future was full of possibilities, as were the past, the present and the never-has-been.

Wind blew his loose locks across his face and ruffled the fabric of his robes. The Academy sat obtrusively in the distance, an imposing, impersonal tower supposedly highlighting the magnificence of the Timelords but really meant to remind the students of who was actually in charge.

It was a moment in time, long forgotten but still there in the depths of The Master’s mind. A sweet insight into the boy he had once been, before the universe had twisted him into this sharper, more brittle version of himself. But, for a second, you could appreciate the potential he’d possessed, the child still somewhere in his heart.

The beautiful scenery was replaced by the cold, plain stones walls which you’d come to know so well as you returned to the vault. That answered your question, at least; the psychic dampening effects of the Tarcanian ginger had finally worn off and your powers were back. It didn’t fill you with as much relief as you had expected.

You dropped your hand to your side and followed The Master to your bed, which had at some point been designated the only place to conduct your business. If you’d realised before that you would be here for so long, you might have asked for more furniture. A large sofa where you could sit and read. A fluffy rug underfoot, piles of cushions forming another space for you and The Master to have your little chats.

An odd knot formed in your stomach as you thought actually making a home for yourself here on his TARDIS, emotions bouncing between longing for that sort of normality and shock that you were even considering it with The Master.

“So…” Silence was common place between you both but rarely did it feel this awkward, this uncomfortably charged. You figured that pussyfooting around would only make it worse and chose to be direct. “How are we going to make this work? Do you want to scan my memories or am I reading you first?”

“I would prefer neither.”

“Master, we agreed -”

“Yes, I am aware. Sit back against the headboard before I change my mind.”

His prickly attitude didn’t bother you, although you were certain that it was his intention. As the days had passed, your theory that The Master was deeply uncomfortable with the prospect of sharing memories was confirmed over and over again. Each of your questions regarding the Timelords’ telepathic abilities were shot down, all discussions over what exactly he hoped to find (or would prefer to keep buried) ended in a shouting match. He hadn’t been this tense since you first woke in the vault but you took it in your stride.

You shuffled back into the centre of the bed and made yourself comfortable, surrounded by cushions, palms placed flat on the fluffy blanket scrunched up by your side. Legs curled up in front of your chest, more defensive than comfortable as the magnitude of what you were offering The Master began to reveal itself, you muttered, “I’m ready.”

Devoid of grace, The Master followed and positioned himself opposite you. He studied your posture and shook his head, his thoughts unreadable. You jumped when he rest his hand on your knee, breath caught in your throat at the remarkably gentle touch as he pushed your legs to the side.

“You’re too tense. Relax.”

All the concern you’d sensed in him earlier vanished, replaced by something quite hypnotic. A distant recollection of UNIT files reminded you that The Master had a penchants for these sorts of tricks but you couldn’t bring yourself to argue. His voice was gentle, soft like silk on your skin as he repositioned you into a far more open stance, your back straight against the headboard, legs crossed and palms open on your knees. Whether it was necessary for this activity or just a way to calm both of your nerves, you didn’t mind either way.

“Better. Now close your eyes.”

“Do I have to?”

You felt a tingle of annoyance on the edge of your senses but, instead of indulging it as he usually would, The Master simply drew a deep breath and said, “You don’t have to do anything but it would easier for us both if you just did what I told you.”

Nodding briefly, you calmed your own breathing and focused on what you could feel around you. The soft blanket beneath your fingers, the mattress sinking under your combined weights. The Master shifted forward slightly so your knees touched, the crisp fabric of his trousers crinkling. Slowly, he matched his breathing to yours and you once again found yourself considering that this was more of a delaying tactic than actually necessary for him to scan your memories.

Whatever nervousness The Master felt vanished when he actually made contact with your mind. He touched his fingers to your temples, his thumbs beneath your eyes, skin pleasantly warm against your own. The connection burst into life immediately and the familiar feeling of falling consumed you. However, as the images of his past began to take form around you, a wall appeared, pushing you back.

The shapes faded into obscure, fuzzy blobs, little more than bursts of colour, the sounds and smells grew distant. You felt trapped in a bubble, lost between your consciousness and his. An opaque whiteness surrounded you, cradling you in its warm but somehow impersonal embrace. Panic spiked in your chest as you fought to free yourself from the cage only to find that there was a similar nothingness in every direction.

Suddenly, the emptiness shifted. You couldn’t control it, the power completely out of your hands. A far away voice whispered to simply let it happen, to set yourself free and allow the memories to take you. It was familiar, warm like a summer’s day. You trusted the voice – you needed to trust the voice, the possibility of being stuck here alone too much – and stopped fighting the change.

All the pain and fear vanished as buildings took form, towering above your head. The London skyline was instantly recognisable as you walked along the same route you had followed every day for five years since starting at UNIT. You smiled to the magazine vendor on the corner, dropped a pound in the busker’s guitar case as his beautiful melodies followed you down the street.

It was a bright and vibrant day, a rare and beautiful thing at this time of year. You wove through the bikes and cars like it was a level of a video game. Safely across the road, you bought yourself a pastry for breakfast and stopped in the park to enjoy it. You were at peace with the world, grateful for the life you had.

Until, without warning, the screaming started.

The sky tore in two, releasing wave after wave of spheres from… somewhere. A dark crack in the heavens, the universe bleeding into your world. They descended upon the Earth and eliminated a fraction of the population without mercy, without regret. As they flew past you, some even seemed to be laughing, full of childlike joy. It was horrendous.

Frozen with fear, you watched as strangers around you were shot down, torn to pieces, unable to help them. Unable to help yourself. One sphere circled you, scanned you, and paused. It bopped in the air, curious, before zooming off to rejoin the rest of the army, for some reason deeming you worthy of survival. 

On the ground at your feet, people who had not been so lucky were trampled on and tripped over as the survivors scrambled to escape.

The memory faded, replaced by one far kinder. Your childhood home. A rainy morning locked inside but still full of joy and fun. You played boardgames with your friend, created your own rules, lied and cheated to win. Naturally, they did exactly the same until you were effectively playing two separate games simultaneously. A winner was never declared but you had all the pieces and they had all the cards so neither felt hard done by.

There was chocolate cake, so rich and delicious that you couldn’t help but eat the entire thing; you each paid for that mistake later but that was part of being a child – scoffing your face with sweets until you were sick – wasn’t it? You curled up together on the sofa and watched your favourite film, able to sing every word of every song in questionable harmony.

Another door opened. It brought you back to the present, sat on your desk at UNIT as you flicked through a folder on one Agent O. A note from high up was stuck to the top corner: _Utmost interest. Begin recon immediately._ You couldn’t see why the man was so special, other than having a big mouth and an attitude problem, but never questioned your orders.

Then, a gun in four parts. That was the rumour circulating the ghettos. A brave woman, Martha Jones, was scouring the world to find the pieces in order to kill The Master and end his horrific reign. She wasn’t far from here, apparently. She’d escaped the factories in what used to be China and was heading across the border tonight. You were part of the resistance team sent to meet her, to smuggle her through the checkpoint.

Weeks it had taken to collect the necessary equipment required to stun the Toclafane. For all their power and technological superiority, they were little more than children. They didn’t learn from the mistakes of their kin and fell for the same traps over and over again, one miracle among all this suffering.

Your three man team – you and two ex-students you shared a room with – unscrewed the bars on your window and leapt out to the tree you always used to assist your descent. Under cover of darkness, the nights now black as nature intended with all non essential lighting cannibalised for the rocket ships, you crept through the desolated town to the border.

The chill set in your bones as you waited for Martha’s arrival, nervous energy the only thing you had to keep you warm. Jane and Felix set about preparing the equipment to knock out any partrolling Toclafane as you worked on the radio, sending your signals out into the ether in the hope that Martha would find you well.

She was three hours later, her clothes soaked from a gruelling trek through the marshes, but Martha greeted you with a tired smile and thanked you for your assistance. You carried her bags back to your building and gave her your bed for the night. She told you stories of a wonderful man, of hope and the possibility of a better world. It was difficult to believe but her determination and strength of heart soon won you over.

By the morning, when the guards arrived to execute you and your team as traitors to the new world, Martha was gone.

Finally, two children ran around on a cliff top, the red sky stretching out as far as the eye could see. They played rough, pushing and shoving, their laughter filled the air until one pushed too hard. The other fell to the ground, their limp body encased in a beautiful golden light as it took them away.

You came back to the vault with a jolt. The Master dropped his fingers from your temples and studied you seriously, equally as concerned by that last memory. With nowhere to run – for that was your immediate reaction when faced with a predator about to tear your throat out – you drew back as far as the headboard would allow you. The extra inch provided little extra protection from the Timelord but somehow gave you more clarity.

“That wasn’t my memory.”

“Really? I would never have guessed,” The Master snarled. “That was a regeneration.”

“Who were they? Were you the child that fell?”

He shot you a look so dark that you were surprised it didn’t blow the lights above your head. “I know my life. I’ve jumped off a few cliffs in my time but not that one.”

“It _was_ on Gallifrey, though. I felt your recognition before you drew back.”

“I don’t care what you felt. Tell me how you have that memory.”

“I don’t know!”

The Master raked his fingers through his hair and grumbled something undecipherable beneath his breath. Still seething, he flopped back onto the mattress and swore. “We know even less than when we started this!”

You awkwardly patted his leg and said, “Look on the bright side. We have something new to investigate now.”

“Your optimism makes me sick.”

Good, you thought spitefully. You allowed him a few more moments to indulge his anger before bringing up the other elephant in the room. “Are we going to talk about what else we saw? I was executed for helping Martha. In the other world where you were Master of Earth, I died.”

“Yeah, well, you’d be surprised how often it doesn’t stick.”

“But I still have the memories. How is that possible?”

He lifted his hands in an uninterested shrug. “I lived through that timeline. You have the power to look back on the lives of others. Most probably a temporal convergence which allowed you to access the parallel universe when it happened. It’s not important.”

“It is to me! I _died._ ”

“You keep saying that as if it will change anything. Just shut up and let me think.”

“Get out.”

“Excuse me?”

In two words, The Master managed to channel a level of authority and threat which you had never encountered before. Fear chilled your entire body, right down the space between cells, as you realised a moment too late that you may have miscalculated. Head bowed so low that your chin practically touched your chest, your long overgrown hair falling around your face like a curtain, you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

The Master grabbed your chin and forced you to meet his gaze. It was like staring into the heart of a sun, beautiful in its rage but absolutely, undeniably deadly. “Don’t speak to me like that again. I tolerate your existence and you have proved yourself to be occasionally useful but that does not mean you are my equal.”

“I understand, Master.”

“Good.”

He released his grip and you rubbed the skin, testing for marks. None yet, but you were certain that bruises would appear over time. The Master deflated slightly as the silence grew heavy between you and he fell back on the bed once more, this time his anger replaced by resignation. “It’s right there, I can feel it. All the answers. Just out of reach.”

“You think the children are important.”

“I’m certain of it.”

“Allow me to search your memories for them, then. Perhaps you have them buried somewhere.”

You waited anxiously for his next outburst, another wicked blow as he expended his anger on you. However, none came. Instead, The Master sighed so deeply that he may well have brought life to a new universe. “Tomorrow. There are things I need to do today. Do you want curry or noodles tonight?”

Truly, the Timelord was unbelievable. How could he think that you were okay after all this? Watching your own death, learning you were no closer to an answer regarding the bond between you. Still, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to shout back and tell him exactly how you were feeling; he wouldn’t care and you weren’t willing to ignite his anger again.

So, you smiled stiffly and mumbled, “Noodles, please.”


	13. Chapter 13

Really, it was The Master’s fault.

If he had been more observant, more aware of his surroundings instead of getting lost in his thoughts and practically forgetting about your very existence – despite that being one of the main issues plaguing his mind – then you would never have wandered into the central TARDIS console. You wouldn’t have felt the screaming temptation to leave your prison and then you wouldn’t be here now, slammed up against the wall, his hand around your throat and the TCE pressed against your forehead.

So, yes, perhaps it was _slightly_ your fault. You could have stayed put like a good little prisoner, closed your eyes and gone to sleep like every other night. The Master would never have realised his mistake and then this entire mess would have been avoided. Only you didn’t. So here you were.

But it really was The Master’s fault. Consider the evidence: He was the one that didn’t close the door to the vault as he left yesterday after sharing a disappointing portion of noodles – the noodles themselves were okay but the sauce was thick with oil and the only flavour was a vague tingling sensation on the underside of your tongue.

Throughout the entire meal, you’d known something was seriously wrong. He didn’t speak once, not even to complain about the food, in stark contrast to your usual evening conversations. It was understandable; both of you were preoccupied with the images you had seen in your mind earlier that day. And you supposed that was why he didn’t bother to wait for the heavy clunk as the numerous bolts and latches which locked you in every night fell into place.

The point stood, though; he was the reason this was happening.

Unfortunately, The Master had jumped straight past placing the blame and directly to an unnecessarily forceful reaction. He gave you no time to explain your presence. The floor board had creaked beneath your bare foot and within a blink of an eye he slammed you against the wall, grip crushingly tight around your windpipe.

This wasn’t an intimidation attempt or some kind of twisted power play. It was nothing like the usual way he threw you around or exerted his control. This was a gut reaction, an explosion of his exhaustion and rage and confusion all directed solely towards an unexpected threat – you.

It was pointless to try and fight yourself free but you tried nonetheless, panic surging through your veins and driving you to desperate measures. You clawed at his face, scratched his cheek and actually managed to draw blood, but all that achieved was angering The Master further.

His grip around your throat tightened and the pressure built in your head. Not only did he cut off the oxygen flow to your brain, your powers were adding their own unique kind of disorientation to the mix. You practically flung open the gates which usually protected your mind, almost desperate to lose yourself in his memories. It had to be better to lose yourself there and never wake up than be consciously aware as he choked you to death.

Mercifully, the world quickly shifted behind The Master. The dark TARDIS brightened as it flickered through variations of its often curious design like someone glancing through an old photo album. With it, shadows of The Master’s different incarnations came to life. They paced around the space, held deep conversations with the ship and occasionally paused to stare at the exact spot where you were before they quickly forgot about you and the memories continued as they should.

The Master stood in a graveyard, surrounded by metal men – Cybermen – with a gleeful smile on her face as she revealed her plan to The Doctor. Control of the dead, impressive or what? Only, she knew that it was awful, sacrilegious. That was half the thrill, of course, but she never would have attempted it if she wasn’t entirely convinced that the old man would stop her. Reverse the process and save all his precious humans, maybe stopping for a moment to give her the time of day. It was all she wanted, really.

Then there was dancing and chips and conversations in a vault which looked scarily like your own as she teased The Doctor by being a better person. Maybe it was what she wanted, maybe it was purely for him. Either way, it ended as well as she could have expected – stabbing herself in the back and dying alone.

Time shifted once more and you found yourself back on Gallifrey. The atmosphere was thicker than you imagined it would be. It pressed heavily against your chest, starved your lungs of oxygen until you suddenly recalled that you weren’t really there at all. It was all in your mind. Or was it? You couldn’t remember.

Through The Master’s eyes, you stared nervously at a blank wall, anxiety bubbling up inside your chest. This was an important day; the most important day of a young Gallifreyan’s life. He was about to embark on his journey to become a Timelord, start his life at the Academy. Resentment tinged every single second of this memory, a hatred so deeply engrained that you could hardly tell whether it had always been there or whether it had built, slowly, over thousands of years since.

You knew this was not a moment you wanted to be trapped in and tried desperately to separate yourself from the memory but the pull was too strong. Your head was lighter than ever and the wider view of corridor was blocked by the shadows which were clawing at the edges of your vision. 

Dread gnawed at your insides like a ravaging beast savouring the final scraps of meat on a bone. Every cell in the boy’s body vibrated with nervous energy, all to hide the healthy dose of fear. Be brave, they said, but he had heard the stories from the other children. There was no escaping this.

Seemingly stepping out of the walls, two tall men in grand robes with obnoxiously ornate head pieces appeared. They flanked the child and marched him through the citadel, uncomfortably like a convict on his way to execution. He hadn’t even gotten a final meal; only the same, depressing wheats for breakfast.

As they ventured deeper into the citadel, it slowly grew darker and you soon struggled to see straight. It wasn’t the memories, though; they were stronger than ever. The torch lights flickered either side of the boy and cast a dancing glow across his terrified face. The men stood him in front of a circular dish and told him to stare deeply into the Schism.

He wanted to look away. You wanted to look away too. It was terrifying and cruel to expose a child to this impossible horror. However, the sense of duty, of purpose had already been instilled into him and the child did exactly as he was told. He stared deeply into the tear in space and time, the purest rip in the fabric of reality, and looked for answers. Clues as to what kind of man he would be. The highs and lows of his life. The chance of spending that time with his best friend.

What he saw answered none of those burning questions. Instead, within the impossible colours and swirling waves of space-time, he found something else entirely. A rhythm, the rhythm. Four beats, projected backwards through time directly to him. You could see it all unfold, hundreds of years in the future and yet in your own personal past, the Grand Council enacting a plan to permanently end life as anyone knew it.

Rassilon stared deep into your eyes, just another ghost but striking and terrifying as any living creature. You felt the drum beat rage in the back of your skull as it latched itself onto you too, rippled back through your own timeline, the aftershocks of a temporal quake which should never have happened. It called to you, bound you to The Master forever.

The darkness continued to creep up around the harsh edges of the past but you were lost to the vortex. The child, The Master, was frozen in place as the drums buried deeper into his impressionable young mind. You, on the other hand, were drawn into the Schism. You stepped into the terrifying tear of your own free will, although you couldn’t quite reason why.

Two children ran around on a cliff top, the red sky stretching out as far as the eye could see. They played rough, pushing and shoving, their laughter filled the air until one pushed too hard. The other fell to the ground, landed awkwardly and a terrible crack echoed through the quarry.

The younger boy scrambled down the cliff face at a remarkable speed, breathing frantic as they shook the broken body of their friend. He couldn’t be dead; he had promised to stay by his side forever. They were going to travel the world, explore all the wonders, hand in hand. Why wouldn’t he wake up?

A golden light shone from his chest and encased him. You turned away, unable to face the brightness but still able to feel the tingle of a foreign energy against your skin. When you looked back, the child was different. Every aspect of his appearance was changed but the way he embraced the other boy in a tight, comforting hug was so, so familiar.

From that point on, the memories were disrupted.

You couldn’t tell which were figments of The Master’s imagination, which were based in a fragment of truth and whether any of them had actually happened at all. You couldn’t garner a single piece of useful information from The Master’s subconscious as to who these people were or when the events supposedly happened. It was almost as if he didn’t know himself.

From the shot images, though, fighting back the darkness, you managed to piece together a rough timeline of events. It was easy when you watched the events from afar instead of living them. You floated aimlessly around The Master’s mind, lost in a far corner which had never seen his living conscience. It would almost be peaceful if not for the cold, clinical pain that accompanied each memory.

A woman strapped the changed child to an operating table. She studied him, took samples and ran hundreds of tests to determine the secrets of his biology. Over and over, the child was forced to change until he barely seemed able to control the process. Even then, the woman was no nearer to learning his secrets.

The entire time, the second child stuck by his friend’s side. He refused to let go of his hand and never received the same injuries that the woman did when the regeneration process got out of control. It wasn’t long before she strapped him down to the operating table too, curious to see whether he was the same.

With so many years of data to base her work on, it wasn’t hard for the woman to force the child into a regeneration. As the golden light encompassed the boy, she extracted his blood and added it to her sample rack, unattached and dispassionate as his screams shattered the mirror against the wall.

It was then that the images finally faded and you were unable to refuse the shadows any longer. You stopped fighting and allowed them to drag you away, the deathly chill of unconsciousness so much better than standing on the sidelines unable to save her lab experiments from further torture.

As the darkness took you, a distinct feeling of floating overcame you and it wasn’t long before you, like the impossible children, were lost to time completely.


	14. Chapter 14

_Wake up._

Like a nuclear detonation in your brain, the command ignited your central nervous system. Your entire body spasmed, squeezing the little air from your lungs. Every cell in your body stung as if a thousand volts of electricity had passed through your body, fried each nerve ending and replaced them with tiny needles which pricked at your muscles and skin from below the surface.

The first sight you saw was The Master’s eyes, dark and thunderous like an oncoming storm about to decimate the area. You drew into yourself, the natural instinct to protect yourself from his wrath far stronger than your desire to appear strong in front of him. This was one of those rare times when your gut was telling you to obey at all costs, practically screaming, twisted and knotted and all together a terrifying feeling.

He grabbed your jaw to stop you from turning away, not that you would have dared. His nails dug into your flesh, not quite enough to break the skin but certain to leave behind dark, threatening finger marks. “Tell me what you saw.”

Foolishly, you spoke the first words that came to mind: “I don’t know.”

The Master slammed his fist against the metal wall, the vibrations travelling through the entire ship. In the centre of the room, the lights on the console flickered angrily and a low groaning filled the charged silence. However, The Master was too focused on you to spare a thought for his ship.

Cheek pressed right up against yours, the rough burn of his stubble against your skin left you squirming in his grip. It was a pointless endeavour though and you stopped the futile wriggling within seconds. The Master’s breath was uncomfortably warm against the shell of your ear as he hissed, “I will not ask again.”

“I don’t know. But I can show you.”

“Fine.” The Master released his grip but maintained the dangerous proximity. You were trapped between his body and the wall. Gaze dark, he warned, “No games.”

You would never be so stupid, not again. Taking a moment of comfort in the darkness as you closed your eyes, still able to feel his sharp glare like a knife dancing across your skin, tracing your veins and moments from slitting you open. You swallowed deeply, throat still raw from his choke hold, and took a slow breath to centre your thoughts.

Scared to touch him for the first time, you reached for his hand and felt the mental connection flare to life. It scorched your mind like a wildfire, completely uncontrollable and untameable, a madness with a life of its own. The drums raged, a call to war, as the burning light of a regeneration blinded your vision. You shot back, but with nowhere to go you simply trembled against the wall as you searched The Master’s posture for any hint of the attack which you knew was about to come.

You drew a sharp breath as his lifted a hand to your cheek, once again lifting your gaze from the ground, fully prepared for him to spit in your face or break your jaw in anger. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Master,” you whimpered. “I can’t – I don’t know what’s -”

“Stop talking.” The order was clear, and you followed it instantly, but The Master’s tone lacked the harsh bite from before. His fingers were lighter on your skin, still guiding your movements but no longer entirely forceful, never lingering long enough to reignite the connection.

You winced slightly as his thumb brushed over one of the many bruises which now littered your jaw, the contact too brief, too controlled. You almost wished that he would just lash out and release his fury in one swift action instead of toying with you this way.

He cradled your face between is hands, voice smooth as honey. He could have commanded anything and you would dutifully followed without hesitation. Thankfully, all he demanded was a simple action: “Look at me.”

Fearfully, you met his gaze, barely able to comprehend the emotion in his eyes. Anger faded to something colder, a disconnect underlined by something you couldn’t name. Like this, fringe flopped over his face, a carefully calculated expression plastered across his face, hiding behind a fragile mask, he looked so very much like O.

It had the exact effect it was supposed to; even though you knew that O had never existed, that he was nothing more than a deliberate fabrication, you felt yourself relax in his presence. Just as he intended, you bowed your head and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“I know, love.” End achieved, the human façade slipped back to reveal The Master once more but the fear that coiled inside your chest released and you no longer actively tried to break away from him. “You shouldn’t have left your cage.”

“You shouldn’t have left the door open.”

You didn’t miss the way The Master bit back his smile as that strange camaraderie between you reared its head once more. “It won’t happen again.”

Of that you were certain. You allowed The Master to guide you towards a bench beside the central column, the swirling patterns which made up the metallic backboard distinctly Gallifreyan in design. It was hard and uncomfortable to sit on, definitely present more for the aesthetic than actual use, but you kept your complaints to yourself.

“How do you feel?”

“You don’t care.”

“You’re right; I don’t. You’re still going to tell me, though.”

A harsh laugh filled the empty space; it took a few seconds to realise that you were the source. “I feel like shit.”

“And you look like it too.”

“Thanks,” you scoffed. What with not showering for months and the myriad of marks and bruises that littered your skin, you could only imagine how terrible you looked.

The Master perched on edge of the console, the few feet between you still too claustrophobic for your liking. His tapped random patterns on the underside of the console, purposefully avoiding the four beat rhythm which continued to burrow through your skull. Every now and then though it would sneak through; a conscious decision on his part or not, your anxiety spiked each time it sounded.

Recognising your discomfort, The Master eventually stopped the tapping and busied himself instead by rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Each fold of the fabric was deliberate and you found an unexpected relaxation in watching his easy movements. You supposed that was the plan when he said outright, “You’re going to show me what you saw.”

There was no room for debate, any fool would have seen that. So, with little other option, you pushed yourself to your feet and braved the few steps towards him. The Master opened his legs wide for you to stand between, intimate in a way that should probably have bothered you but didn’t. You fit perfectly in the gap, no longer fighting to keep your breath steady as he welcomed you into his personal bubble.

“I don’t want to see myself die again.”

“She wasn’t you. Not really. But if it bothers you that much then I will make sure it’s the first thing you see.”

You shoved his shoulder as hard as you could but it he barely reacted. “You really are a prick.”

“So I’ve been told.” He tugged on the oversized shirt that hung from your frame – far better sitting than when he’d first taken you prisoner and you’d been little more than skin and bones from months on the run – and straightened the chequered collar. “You’re holding back on me, Y/N.”

“We haven’t even…” But of course, The Master was already toying with the edges of your mind, testing your mental shields and seeking out the weakest parts to allow him entrance. You frowned, knocking his hands away from your shirt. “You said before that agency mattered. Did you not mean that?”

Give him his due, The Master answered honestly with a shrug. “Yes and no. It’s easier to read a person’s thoughts when they open their mind willingly.”

“Then why not wait for me to give it?”

“Would you?”

Truthfully, you didn’t know. There were times when you did actually trust The Master, believed that you were on the same side of this. Other times though, especially after displays of violence, you found it harder to consider opening your mind to him. Unable to find the words, your hesitation answered for you and The Master pressed his lips together tightly, silently thanking you for proving his point.

“As I thought. Makes you smarter than most humans, I suppose.”

“Ask me.”

His turn to frown, The Master swung his legs either side of you and pretended not to understand. “What?”

“Ask me to let you in. No orders, no threats. No hypnosis. Just ask nicely.”

Dramatically, The Master’s head fell back and he sighed in annoyance. As he straightened up, you slipped your fingers under the bottom of his waistcoat to pull it back into place, an action which surprised you both. Whether that was what convinced The Master to play your game, it was merely indulging his own curiosity or he was so desperate for the information within you mind that he didn’t care how far he lowered himself, The Master asked, “Y/N, will you show me what you saw? Please?”

The last word physically pained him but it solidified your wavering trust in the man. Too smart to savour the moment and laud your victory over him, you answered simply. “Of course, Master.”

“Good. Get on with it, then.”

You rolled your eyes, unsurprised by his short reply. It would be pushing your luck to expect anything less. Slowly, as if he might spook at the slightest movement, you lifted a hand to The Master’s face and cupped his cheek. He mirrored the action, fingers pressed against your temple and beneath your eye as the bond between you flared to life.

Missy’s memories were clear as day. They played out exactly as before, unchanged but tinged with a sadness, a regret which you hadn’t noticed the first time around. Projected by The Master, for the actions themselves or the fact that the plans failed, you couldn’t say, as he looked back on his life but hidden behind thick mental walls.

His hatred spiked so fiercely when he watched his younger self stand before the Schism that it was a physical effort to maintain the mental bond. You tried to push through the memories, to spare him the pain, but The Master refused, content to torture himself just a little more.

Then came the turn of the children. His interest was palpable, almost sweet on your tongue, cloying on your skin, but the images were blurred. No matter how much you focused, you couldn’t shift the haze that obscured the memories. Distant screams filled the empty spaces but even they were soon lost to the fog.

The harder you tried to hold on to what you’d seen, the faster the wispy images slipped through your fingers. Even with the might of The Master’s own consciousness behind yours, in the space of seconds, what remained of the memories vanished for good.

Severing the connection, you went to apologise for your failure but stopped short of forming the words when a bright grin spread across The Master’s face. He tapped your cheek twice then jumped down from the console. Hand on your hip as he twisted past, the Timelord began flipping switches and smashing buttons with an almost fevered glee.

“Where are we going? What did you see that I didn’t?”

“Nothing – and that’s precisely the point! There’s something actively blocking the memories and only one civilisation has the ability and the righteousness to do that.”

“Gallifrey?”

He nodded. “Gallifrey. Whoever those memories actually belong to, they will be backed up in the citadel. All Timelord lives are. I can get in there and find the originals; won’t be the first time I’ve hacked The Matrix and I doubt it’ll be the last, the bastards.”

You nodded along as if you completely understood how a society could back up the lives of every citizen and then restrict access to their own personal history, more interested in the way The Master danced around the console, setting the course with more enthusiasm and excitement than you had seen from him in months. He was captivating like an explosion frozen in time, undeniably powerful and beautiful but mere moments from raining destruction down upon the world.

By his side was either the safest or the most dangerous place in the universe to be but, against reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave now.

The central column burst into life, wheezing and groaning as it rose and fell with each breath. The Master turned to you, finger pressed firmly on a red button, and said, “You might want to grab onto something, love. It going to be a rough ride.”

Despite the many other options, you instinctively grabbed his arm and his grin widened further. Flipping a final lever, he clung to the edge of the console and yelled, “Ready?” He didn’t wait for your response and the entire ship shuddered as it forced its way through into a pocket universe.


	15. Chapter 15

You tried to duck beneath The Master’s arm but he was insistent that you stay put, going so far as to physically shove you back into the TARDIS. You stumbled back and floundered for something to grab on to, unfortunately missing the handrail and landing on your arse with a loud crash. “Fuck, that hurt.”

The Master rolled his eyes and stepped away from the front door, back into the ship, to stand above you. Holding tightly onto what little pride remained, you moved to push yourself upright but the Timelord was quick to stop you. His boot was heavy on your chest, not quite enough to hinder your breathing but enough to keep the threat clear, The Master warned, “Stay down, Y/N.”

“Get off me.”

“Not until I know you’ll stay put.”

Slumping beneath his foot, you flopped your arms beside you and refused to meet The Master’s gaze. It would almost be admitting defeat if you did. Still, on the small off chance that he would actually kill you in order to keep you from exploring Gallifrey, you stared up at the impossibly high ceiling above and groaned, “Fine.”

“Wait here. Don’t follow me.”

As the dull pressure against your ribcage grew, emphasising his seriousness, you grumbled an acceptance of his orders. Despite the method of delivery, you couldn’t help but feel a little touched that he so clearly wanted to keep you safe from his species. Of course, it was equally possibly that he simply didn’t want anyone to know he had a human in tow or that you might cramp his style – strange as it was – by following him around.

Either way, The Master believed that you would do as told and cool air rushed back into your chest as he walked away from your body. He paused in the doorway, no doubt debating whether or not to physically tie you down, before opting for the path of least effort (doing nothing) and disappearing out the TARDIS doors with nothing but a final warning glare.

When the latch clicked shut you sat up and arched your back, relief flooding your system as each joint in your spine clicked in turn. God that felt better. Bending over the handrail you’d failed to catch before, you stretched out all of your limbs and groaned from the pit of your stomach, releasing every last drop of pent up frustration and pain.

Outside, the wind swirled against the TARDIS doors and the intrigue was simply too much to bear. Months you’d spent trapped in a concrete room but now you had the chance to explore an alien planet. There was no way you were going to stay put and wait for The Master, regardless of his vague threats.

Circling the central console, the TARDIS hummed gently as you ran your fingers over the knobs and dials without a care nor idea of what they actually did. You glanced at a clock on an extended screen – a mess of swirling circles that overlapped and interlocked but flashed once a second and returned to one particular organisation every few minutes – and considered the Timelord’s exact words.

_Wait here. Don’t follow me._

If your assumptions about the TARDIS time piece were correct and your own internal clock was anything to go by, you had been waiting for about five minutes now. Obviously The Master wouldn’t return that quickly but he hadn’t actually specified how long you were to wait for. And if you wandered around Gallifrey without a plan, asking for random directions towards The Matrix as you went, then you weren’t technically following him.

Questionable logic but more than good enough for you and the TARDIS even seemed to agree; the bright lights flickered excitedly as you voiced your plans to the empty ship and the red glow grew warmer around you. A tingling sensation at the base of your skull had you scratching at your skin until you realised, having removed a good few layers of skin, that the ship was trying to communicate with you.

Splaying your fingers across the edge of the console, you leant forward and said, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

To your left, a part of the dashboard lit up brighter than the rest. You shuffled around to it and stared at the folds of squishy… _something_ with curiosity and disgust. However, taking the hint as the rate of flashing increased, you slipped your fingers between the slimy folds and squeezed your eyes shut, trying desperately not to think about how it felt like touching snotty, soft cheese.

You tried to jump back as a series of images flashed through your mind but couldn’t pull your fingers free from the console. Blocking the TARDIS from your mind was impossible. As you so frequently pointed out to The Master, you were psychometric not telepathic. The control you had over your mental walls was shaky at best. The ship, on the other hand, relied on telepathy to communicate with its driver and smashed through your fragile defences like a sledgehammer.

The pain faded when you stopped fighting the TARDIS, or maybe you were just numb to it. Either way, now possessing the clarity to process the images, you laughed weakly at what the ship showed you. Basically a recording from the past few minutes, you saw yourself padding around the console room and god were you in dire need of a wash. The images shimmered like an old Windows’ Movie Maker transition to reveal Timelords in all their pompous glory followed by a corridor that led to a bathroom and adjacent wardrobe.

Message clear, you drew back and followed the path placed in your mind. It wasn’t long before you were lost in the maze of hallways and corridors and you briefly wondered whether that was actually the plan, that this was the TARDIS’s way of keeping you from following The Master. However, as you rounded another corner the door from the images came into view and you quickly disregarded the paranoid thought.

Water rushed from the shower head the moment you stepped into the bathroom, the sound music to your ears. It was perfectly temperate, warmed your hands and sent a pleasant shiver down your spine as it flowed over your hands without scorching the skin. You splashed the water onto your face feeling like you’d just found an oasis after months of crawling through a desert.

Steam filled the room, completely hiding your reflection in the mirror (probably for the best), as you stripped down and stepped into the shower. Minutes you stood beneath the water, doing nothing but enjoying the cleansing torrent. When the water began to grow cold, a less than subtle sign from the TARDIS to get a move on, you grabbed a wash cloth and started scrubbing, unable to distinguish dirt from bruises, so present were they both.

All the dust and dirt and grime washed away, grim, grey water disappearing down the drains. By the time it finally ran clear, you felt like an entirely new person. Refreshed, energetic. It was amazing what a proper wash could do.

Wrapping a soft towel around your body, you paused by the mirror and considered wiping away the condensation. The urge quickly disappeared though. While you felt clean and more like a human being than you had for months, you knew that looking at your reflection would shatter the illusion completely. No matter how hard you’d scrubbed, you couldn’t remove the myriad of bruises that littered your skin and not even a year’s solid sleep would be enough to lighten the dark circles around your eyes.

While things were on a semi level ground with The Master right now, you didn’t need to see the reminders of the truth. Prisoner or not, you could no longer tell, but this flickering bond between you was unhealthy and you knew it. The dark marks around your jaw and down your neck would only compound that.

Turning your back to the mirror, a weight lifting from your chest, you pressed your hand against the wall and focused on the slight vibrations. “You said something about clothes?”

A door phased into existence and swung open to reveal a small cupboard. The ship selected a few outfits for you to choose between, obviously stolen from The Master’s own collection of clothes. Subtlety was clearly not an option so you went for the least offensive on the eyes: plain trousers and a dark blue shirt. The tartan waistcoat remained firmly on the hanger, mostly because you feared The Master would consider you wearing it a parody rather than an acceptance of his curious fashion taste.

Neither piece fit perfectly but you rolled up the sleeves and chose suitably dramatic boots to draw attention away from the ill fit of the trousers. (You drew the line at bright purple socks, instead requesting a darker pair which the TARDIS was quick to supply.) Once you were dressed and ready to face Gallifrey, you headed back to the central console room, proud that you only made three wrong turns on the way.

“Any advice before I go out there?”

The TARDIS didn’t respond, apparently done helping you for the day. You shrugged off the ship’s sudden coldness and curled your fingers around the handle. Every cell in your body buzzed with excitement. This was your first alien planet. Hell, you were probably one of the first humans to ever visit Gallifrey. Never in your life had you imagined that you would actually get to explore the universe. It almost made the past few months worth it.

Taking a deep breath, you flung open the doors to reveal this fantastic new world.

Honestly, it was just a bit disappointing. You’d seen glimpses in The Master’s memories but they were through rose tinted glasses with happiness for better times, a few special moments with The Doctor before everything had fallen apart. There, you’d seen a beautiful orchard, felt the red grass beneath your back, the gentle warmth of the sun on your face.

Now, red and orange rocks stretched as far as the eye could see. The sky was practically brown, only two bright balls of light in the sky providing any feature of interest. There were no exotic plants, no strange animals to regret petting. Just sand and rock and sky. No wonder The Master left.

You stepped out onto Gallifrey, the weight of the atmosphere hitting you with full force. Doubled over, you struggled to catch your breath. It took a good few minutes of controlled breathing to adjust to the thick, warm air but when you eventually got accustomed to the new planet you took off, head high, in the same direction as the footprints left on the dusty ground.

Over the second ridge, you suddenly understood why Gallifrey was seen around the galaxy as such an impressive civilisation. A gigantic dome stood tall and proud in the centre of the city, a monument to their might and skill. Nestled among mountains, reflecting the glow of the binary suns, it was quite a wonder to behold. Perhaps it wasn’t such a disappointing planet after all.

The city was a lot further than you had anticipated; that or you were far less fit than you remembered. You couldn’t even put it down to being malnourished any more, not since The Master had started feeding you three meals a day. (Admittedly, breakfast was always toast and lunch was a sandwich but your shared dinners were always delicious takeaways that provided more than enough calories to tide you over into the next day of inactivity.)

Eventually you reached the outskirts of the city and the footprints which had guided you there vanished as you stepped onto stone paths. With little choice, you caught the attention of the first person you could find. “Excuse me, what’s the fastest way to get to the Citadel?”

The woman looked you over, distrust palpable as she took in your strange clothes. Apparently, what the TARDIS had shown you as Gallifreyan fashion – bright red robes with ridiculous head pieces – was merely a ceremonial outfit and your formal combination was very out of place against the practically medieval cloths that normal people wore.

“Where have you travelled from?”

“Earth,” you said, projecting an air of confidence which you most certainly didn’t have. “My TARDIS was stuck there for a while but I’m here now. My…” Friend? Partner? Jailor? “Associate went ahead and it’s been so long that I guess I don’t remember my way around any more.”

Believing your half truths, the woman pointed down the street and said, “Follow the path until you reach Shoabon’s market. Take a left through the Academy district and head up through Mid-Town. Someone else will help you there.”

“Thank you!” you called, although the woman had already begun to walk away.

As you walked up to the market, you were surprised by how abandoned it felt. In the shadows of the great citadel, these were little more than shanty towns. Children played in the dirt, lived in huts that even Humanity had outgrown. More and more, you understood why The Master held a hatred for his people. They boasted supremacy but treated their own like pests to be hidden away in the dark, barely cared for and forgotten as the Lords went about their lives of luxury.

Relying on the help of strangers, you made your way through Mid-Town and into the Capitol. The change was remarkable. Great marble stones lined the paths instead of rock and rubble from the surrounding mountains. Homes were grander, technology clearly thrived here. Golden inscriptions were carved proudly into doorways and the robes which you’d seen earlier started to make an appearance.

You were stopped by a guard at the first checkpoint, unarmed but in no easy mood. You reached out to touch his hand and sifted through his memories for any useful names to get you out of this. It was by accident that you stumbled upon one such detail and you smiled sweetly as you stepped back, apologising for the sudden contact. “I was part of the diplomatic convoy sent to converse with the Sisters of Karn. I must report to the General immediately.”

The guard faltered, just as you’d hoped he would. In his mind, you’d learned of the growing whispers around the Capitol, fears that the Sisters were plotting against the High Council. You had no idea whether it was true or not but an envoy returning with news of such an upset had seemed the perfect, unquestionable alibi.

After a few further moments of consideration, the guard nodded. “Proceed.”

That excuse got you through many more doors until you finally reached the centre of the Citadel. At that point, you knew you needed help to find The Matrix because wandering around in circles had thus far achieved nothing.

Hiding in the shadows, you waited for another guard to pass by. It felt like hours before someone finally did appear but the moment he saw you he drew a weapon and demanded, “Identify yourself!”

You threw your hands in the air, back pressed firmly against the wall with nowhere to run. Not your best idea, then. “I’m an engineer from Arcadia. There was a failure in the Matrix chamber and I’m here to fix it.”

“You’re lying. Turn around. Keep your hands on your head.”

Definitely not stupid enough to argue with an armed man, you did as ordered and waited for him to handcuff your wrists together. However, the second you turned your back, there was a sharp scream and then a quiet rattle. You spun around, fists clenched, ready to fight, then breathed a sigh of relief. 

“I told you not to follow me.”

“I didn’t. I found my own way here.”

The Master picked up the miniaturised guard and studied the figure for a few seconds before tossing it aside. The man was forgotten before he even his the ground. “You really are a pain in the arse. Why are you wearing my clothes?”

“The TARDIS told me to change. Honestly, though, I probably would have fit into the lower towns better in that filthy shirt I had. I thought Gallifrey would be better. What? Why are you staring at me like that? You can’t actually believe that shoving citizens in slums is a good thing.”

“What? No. Of course I don’t. Gallifrey is corrupt and always has been. I grew up down there, you know. Before I was sent to the Academy, I lived in the squalid lower town. Only a few of us ever passed the entrance exams but – It doesn’t matter any more.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked away, his emotions buried far too deeply for you to properly read them. Quick to change the subject, you said, “None of that explains why you were staring at me. Have I got dust on my face or something?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Are you coming or not?”

“To where?”

“The Matrix Chamber, obviously.”

You jogged a few steps to catch up with him, when something brilliant occurred to you. “Master, why were you out in the hallway?”

“Heard a noise. Needed to check I wasn’t going to be found.”

“Are you sure that you weren’t on your way back to the TARDIS?”

“What makes you think that?”

“You’ve had hours here to mess around with The Matrix. If you’d found what you needed, we wouldn’t be going back now. So, either you were coming back to get me and show me what you’d found or you were coming back to get me because you need my help.”

The Master stewed silently as you spoke and managed to hold himself together for a whole ten seconds before grumbling, “Yes, okay. There’s a block on some of the files. I can’t get in on my own. Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Well, don’t get used to it.”

He pushed open a door, so perfectly hidden in the wall that you would have – and, upon reflection, actually had – walked straight past it. Down you walked into a darkened chamber, black stones and hanging wires overhead, broken alien bodies littered on the floor around you.

“This place is a crypt,” you mumbled, drawing your arms around your chest to protect yourself from the creeping chill in the air.

“What else did you expect? Sit down and make yourself comfy. This is going to hurt.”


	16. Chapter 16

Time meant nothing inside the Matrix. How could it when every moment that had ever happened, was currently happening and might possibly happen played out before your eyes? Billions of snapshots into the lives of people who had both been dead for thousands of years and were yet to be born. You were used to processing a lifetime’s worth of memories in a few milliseconds but this… This was something else entirely.

You were floating, falling, whole and yet somehow fractured. With each memory you reached out to touch, you lost yourself further to the system. It was a black hole of temptation, so much to see, so many desperate voices calling out to be heard and you simply couldn’t say no. The memories scratched at your mind, tore you apart and spread your attention so thin that you lost all sense of who you truly were.

Earth, UNIT, the every day life that you had once known became little more than a passing concept, distant and easily forgotten. You walked an infinity in the shoes of the Timelords, saw their civilisation rise and crumble and claw their way back out of the rubble. The adventures of the brave, or stupid, few that left to travel the cosmos contrasted so harshly with the sad and dreary lives of those that stayed behind.

Their faces began to blur, one depressing life the same as the next. The anger and rage of the Council filled your hearts – no… heart, singular; you only had one – as they looked out at the rest of the universe and judged it lacking. Their fear as they sent their people to die in the Time War paralysed you, drew you into a dark pit from which you knew there would be no return.

But just as the tendrils of the void squeezed your body into a bind, a hand caught yours, strong enough to pull you away. The contact burned like hellfire melting away your flesh, pain on top of the unbearable strain of the Matrix and you cried out in desperation for release from this torture. If you’d learned anything from the millions of memories here, though, it was that the universe was far from kind.

You woke in a field. The sky was grey but you knew, instinctively, that it would not rain. The grass tickled your cheek, the gentle breeze urging you to stand. However, as your body cried out in pain at the smallest movement, you decided you were quite content to simply lay here for a little while longer and rest. Yes, rest was a very good plan.

A force against your shoulder rolled you onto your back and you stared up at him, The Master, with resignation. “What do you want?” you groaned, covering your face with your arm. To complete the simple action, every single fibre of muscle stretched beyond its limits but it was worth the excruciating pain to hide his annoying expression from view. “Let me rest.”

“Do you know where we are?”

“On the top of a hill.”

“We’re in -”

“The Matrix, yes. I’m not a complete idiot, Master.”

He scoffed. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Suddenly his fingers were on your temples and you felt a pressure inside your skull, an uncomfortable buzz as he sorted through your mind. You shoved him back, scrambling a few metres away. “Don’t. It’s bad enough in there without you making it worse.”

“Not my intention. You’ve got a billion Timelord’s lives jumbled up in your pitiful brain right now and that is no use to me. I need you clear headed if we’re going to reach the redacted data.”

“So you were…?”

“Going to clear the useless memories from your mind. Make room for the important things,” The Master said as if it were perfectly obvious. One again he lifted his hand, ready to act. “It’s best if you don’t struggle. Wouldn’t want to accidentally erase your childhood pet or something.”

You glanced to his hand, still hovering in the air, and sighed. Whether he was right or not, it certainly couldn’t make things worse to clear your mind of the hurt and loneliness of an entire species. You closed your eyes and muttered, soft as the wind, “Go ahead.”

It was, remarkably, painless. One moment your head was full to the brim, your skull literally fracturing, almost set to burst. The next, you felt peace. Your thoughts were quiet once more, your head lighter than it had been for centuries. Or minutes. They were effectively the same thing here.

Drawing back, you nodded graciously. “Thanks for that.”

Before he could respond, the hill shifted abruptly, the sky flipped on its side. The Master grabbed your shoulders and held you until your vision righted itself, rubbing small circles at the base of your neck with his thumb as you breathed shakily through the adjustment.

“Side effect of the wipe. Puts pressure on the cerebellum. That’s the part of your brain that controls balance.”

“Yes, I am aware,” you grumbled, decidedly uninformed on the cerebellum’s purpose.

Body heavy, you let go of your pride and slumped against The Master’s side, allowing him to hold your weight entirely. The closeness was nice. You liked the light patterns he drew on your skin, found comfort in the scent of his jacket. It shouldn’t be this easy to feel peace with a man that locked you up and muddled your mind but you hadn’t felt calm like this in a long while. He was familiar to you in a way that no one had ever been before. Odd indeed how to people as different as you could fit so easily together.

Staring out across the valley, you allowed your mind to wander and let go of the thoughts that held you down. There was nothing to be gained from analysing the situation. Sometimes you just had to go with what was thrown your way, however messed up, and appreciate the beauty among the horror. So that was what you did.

You admired the way The Master’s scruffy hair fell across his face and the calm in his usually intense expression. You listened to the steady beating of his hearts and found a strange comfort in the rhythm that had nearly driven you to insanity. It was so familiar now, almost like it was a part of you.

You sat there far longer than was strictly necessary, simply enjoying the view and the rare silence of The Master’s company. Eventually, though, your elbows started to tingle and your nose grew cold as the Matrix began to draw you back into its distorted web of history. You weren’t supposed to be here and the system was attempting to push you away.

Extricating yourself from The Master’s embrace, you said, “Let’s get this over and done with. I want out of this place.”

He nodded understandingly. “It wasn’t designed for human minds.”

“And yet I’m probably the only one that can find the information that you need.” Gloating didn’t bring you as much joy as it should have done. All you felt was tired and drained. “How do we start?”

“The Matrix is intuitive. When you start to sort through my memories, it should bring them up around us and you’ll have an in. From there, you should be able to move through the time streams without too much trouble.”

You shuddered at the thought, having already experienced how it felt to be torn into a million different shadows of yourself. “What if I get lost?”

“You won’t. I’ll guide you. Are you ready?”

“One more question?” The Master didn’t groan but you felt the annoyance radiate from his pores. Wasting no time, you asked, “Where are we now? Yes, I know it’s the Matrix. But I mean… Where is this memory set?”

The Master glanced around, wrinkled his nose as he sniffed the air, even tasted the dirt beneath you. Apparently the fact that this was all a simulation didn’t detract from the reality of it, for he declared, “Ireland. Earth. Mid twentieth century.” He pursed his lips, badly obscuring the sudden uncertainty. “Or not. Something’s not right here.” He glared your way. “Why did you ask?”

You turned your palm over, the skin marred by a web of dark lines. The lines glittered orange before fading, leaving only a cold chill as proof they had ever existed. You looked up at The Master, who wore a perplexed expression. If you didn’t know better, you might almost have mistaken it for fear. “I’m getting the feeling we’re not supposed to be here.”

He grabbed your hand and traced the faint veins beneath the skin but the shimmering effect did not return. Still holding your hand, The Master closed his eyes and turned his face towards the single beam of sunlight that broke through the heavy cloud cover. He was listening for something, you realised. If only you knew what.

“It’s a perception filter.”

“What?”

“Break the words down, it’s not hard.” You rolled your eyes and waited for the explanation which was quick to come. “Perception filters show you something that isn’t really there or stop you from looking too closely at what is.”

“How can you tell?”

“Listen.”

You mirrored his position, face turned towards the cool sun light, eyes shut from distraction, ears open and heard… Nothing. When you opened your eyes, The Master was staring at you expectantly, having assumed that you were smart enough to figure out what he was hinting. You nodded for a moment, as if you had any idea what he’d just proven, then groaned. “Fine, tell me what I’m supposed to have heard. I’ve got nothing.”

He patted your cheek, the soft action somehow incredibly condescending. “That’s the point, love. There _isn’t_ anything. The Matrix is thorough. The realities it creates are perfect. But there is nothing. Not the wind nor the sea, not a single bird or animal. There is _nothing._ Which means there must be something.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“An absolute absence of sound means that it’s hiding something. These images have been layered over the original moment, muting whatever was there underneath.”

“The perception filter.”

A hollow smile spread across The Master’s face. “There we go. You’re finally there.”

God, he was infuriating. Resisting the urge – a very strong urge indeed – to smack him, you asked, “What am I supposed to do about it?”

“Break it. Find the true memory. Shouldn’t be too hard now that you know there’s something there. Close your eyes. Come, surely you trust me by now.”

Trust was a strong word but you did believe that he wouldn’t hurt you any more, not unless it furthered his goal. That was a concerning thought but you pushed it aside, choosing to believe in the best of him. You allowed your eyes to close, slowed your breath to match The Master’s and barely reacted when he took your hands. It was almost natural at this point, as familiar as breathing.

He lowered his voice until it took on that soft, melodic quality. It danced across your mind, his words like velvet. _Relax. Stop thinking about what you expect to see and open your mind to what is really there. The Matrix will try to trick you but you are stronger than it. Show me what’s there._

It was easy with him guiding you, as you pictured gates swinging outwards. You stepped through into a garden, hues of orange and red a sharp contrast to the greens and greys of the Irish countryside. Silver leaves drifted down from the trees above, teasing your skin as they floated by your cheek.

In the distance, you heard the joyful cheers of children playing. Suddenly you were there with them, watching as they ran through the red grass, carefree and oblivious to the rest of the world. The realisation that you had seen this before jolted you with such force that the empty hills of Ireland made a reappearance.

_Focus!_

The Master’s command struck your core, reverberated through your entire body. Reaching out for the children, the greens slowly gave way to the reds and browns of Gallifrey and you braced yourself for what was about to happen. They ran circles around each other, teasing and shoving, until one boy pushed a little too hard and his friend fell.

You reached out to try and save him, felt his fingers brush past yours as he plummeted towards the bottom of the quarry. Everything slowed as a million moments flooded your mind, some memories you had seen before but forgotten, others that were entirely new. Regardless, all were awful. Over and over you watched these children tortured, too slow to save them from the relentless curiosity of the woman that turned their new home into a prison.

You watched them all grow older, watched Tecteun hide them away and reap the rewards for herself – himself, as he became the President of a new and prosperous Gallifrey – while they suffered. Kept apart from each other, they suffered every single day, always feeling as if a piece of themselves was missing for as long as they were separated.

And separated they were. One was cajoled into joining a secret organisation. Still pure of heart despite everything, they believed the lies they were fed. They believed they were making the universe safer, that they were helping people – helping their friend – and they fled Gallifrey. Over multiple lives, they bent over backwards to seek the approval of the Timelords, hoped that this would finally be enough to earn their freedom and find a sense of comfort, of completion in this hostile universe.

But it was the other child you felt for most. The one that was kept behind, subjected to Tecteun’s whims long after their friend was sent away. Utterly brilliant in every possible aspect, proud and brash and unashamed of their genius, an understanding from beyond these stars, they fought for their freedom in another way. They rejected the Timelords long before their friend but worked from the inside to change and destabilise what the righteous lords were creating.

Both children fighting for what was right, one with violence, the other with words and truths that people weren’t ready to hear. What they achieved was wiped from the records, you couldn’t find proof no matter how hard you looked, but you knew in your heart that neither was satisfied. The universe was no better, regardless of what they told themselves, and there was as much pain and sadness as there had always been.

_But who were they?_

Your question or The Master’s, you didn’t know. It was inconsequential when you both needed the answer. This far gone, this deep into the Matrix, you were effectively the same person now. Driven by his desperation, your own curiosity, you pushed through the timelines. They grew muddy, blurred and redacted beyond even your abilities. Still, you waded through the muddied realities, pushed forward until there was one final memory. Not belonging to either of the children, it seemed to simply exist separate from everything else, locked away behind a wall so thick that it would take billions of years to carve a dent.

Of course, time meant nothing here. So you scratched at rocks until your fingers bled and continued, resolute, for the rest of eternity until a crack appeared in the fabric of the Matrix. You reached in, clawed your way through to a room. Two chairs in a chamber that had always and never existed. The children, thousands of years old now, in their hundredth incarnations, sat blankly in them. All attempts to gain their attention failed as you knew they would.

And yet, against all possibilities, one of the children saw you. Through the cracks in reality, despite a time lock and who knows how many parallel universes keeping you apart, she met your gaze and suddenly you understood. Because there was only one person in the entire universe with a stare that deep, that disabling and dangerous, that fierce and angry and utterly, completely broken.

They screamed as another regeneration was forced upon them. As their bodies shrank and their minds were wiped, it never ceased. Even when it was over, they continued to cry. Two babies, frightened and unaware, handed off to families on the other sides of the city. Separated once more but a friendship as long and strong of theirs would bring them together again eventually. It was only a matter of waiting.

As children do, the pair grew up and grew close and grew restless. They lived a life unaware of what had been lost but still feeling the emptiness of thousands of years wiped from their minds, purged from time. It drove one to kindness, the other to anger.

From that point on, the memories were clear as day. The Matrix projected them without hesitation, a weight from your consciousness as the perception filter faded and you looked on with a clarity as the timeless children sped around the universe, fire and destruction in their wake.

Always running, always looking for something they didn’t know they’d lost, the only two beings in the universe that every truly understood the other. The Doctor and The Master. Now, finally, you had the truth.


	17. Chapter 17

The sheets were soft against your cheek as you breathed in the scent of clean cotton. Any sense of comfort or peace melted away as you groggily came towards consciousness. A sharp, consistent pain in your skull flared over and over, every few seconds, never ending, like someone cutting into your mind with a flaming knife. Efficient and clinical as it sliced through your mental defences and opened you to the truth from which you tried to hide.

Washed out images flashed through your mind, memories of the life you’d once lived. Rolling out of bed and singing in the shower, out of tune but full of enthusiasm. The daily commute spent listening to a podcast and expanding your view of the world, focused on the beauty of the mundane for a while instead of the madness that came with working for UNIT. Laughing with colleagues as you picked at overpriced meal deals, mindlessly gossiping about the latest fads and trends that no one really cared out.

Nights in front of the telly, not really watching anything but instead staring off into space as you processed the day’s events. Maintaining a distance from everyone you knew, physically to avoid the accidental brush of the arm that sucked you into their mind, emotionally to help pretend that you were content in your bubble of self imposed solitude. A life built on secrets and half truths, both at work and in private, carefully constructed to keep you safe. How well that had turned out.

You dragged your hands down your face, pressed the heel of your palm against your eyes and groaned so deeply that it could have shaken the Earth. Or, rather, Gallifrey. You shot upright, everything coming back to you like a flood bursting through a dam.

“Where am I?”

The Master blinked slowly, unfocused and distant as he stared across the room at you. He was there but you couldn’t say with any certainty that he was actually present. It was disconcerting to say the least. Understandable, given what you had both just learned, but disconcerting nonetheless. “In the TARDIS.”

It wasn’t a room you’d seen before but then, you supposed, you hadn’t really had much chance to properly explore the vast ship between being locked up in a vault for who knows how many months and then being caught before your valiant escape. Even if she had allowed you to explore on your short tour to the shower room, this wouldn’t have been on your radar. There was nothing special about it, just a simple bedroom.

How many bedrooms did the TARDIS have? An infinite number, no doubt, all far more impressive than this. And yet… You couldn’t shake the feeling that The Master would never be so wasteful with space, not with no one else around to impress by the magnitude.

The room was dark in furnishings yet in natural light – or, at least, the imitation of natural light; there was no way sunlight of any kind made it this deep into the ship. The headboard was made of dark wood, plain and simple, sanded to smoothness. A small table sat on your right with a crystal lamp which glimmered red when you waved your hand over the top.

The only other piece of furniture was the chair in which The Master currently sat, its harsh metallic lines obviously out of place with the rest of the room. Dragged in from elsewhere on the ship so that he could sit with you. Whether that was to watch you and stop you from running off or out of some true concern you didn’t know.

“What happened? We were in the Matrix chamber and then…” Your splitting headache only grew worse as you fumbled for the specifics and it was only when you felt a dampness on the back of your hand that you realised you were crying. Trembling, you asked, “What happened then, Master?”

“You shattered the filter, revealed the truth.”

That, you could remember. The Timeless Children, beings from another universe, brought to Gallifrey, used to create an entirely new race of people. Lies and deception, pain and betrayal. It was all there clearer than your own history. The Doctor and The Master, just the latest identities in impossibly long lives.

What you couldn’t remember was how you got back to the TARDIS.

Answering a question you hadn’t even realised you’d asked, The Master said stiffly, “It nearly killed you. Emergency medical teleport brought us back. You’ve been asleep since.”

“How long?”

He shrugged and the ship whined. “She says it’s been almost a week.”

Didn’t he know? Time Lords had an acute sense of time passing. You’d been inside the heads of thousands, experienced what it was like to look upon the universe and see everything playing out at once. So why didn’t he know?

Your answer came from the ship itself. A tingle flared in the base of your skull, the telepathic connection flaring back to life once more.

“No, no, please, don’t…” You begged the ship to stay out of your mind but she was insistent. 

The TARDIS relayed images from the past week, although it took you a moment to realise that any time had passed at all. In all those days, The Master never moved from his seat, never spoke nor stretched his legs, didn’t get up in the search for food or water. He simply sat there and stared off into the distance as you rested.

Getting out of bed was an impossible feat right now. Not even a crane could have lifted your heavy muscles off the mattress. Instead, you sunk back beneath the warm cover and rolled onto your side, the effort almost enough to kill you. You made a note to avoid all artificial realities for both the near and distant future.

You stared at the dark walls, more at ease now that you didn’t have to look at The Master. It wasn’t that he scared you exactly – you’d long since gotten over that fear. No, it was more a fear of his current state. His entire life had been flipped on its head, everything he thought he knew proven to be a lie. What that would do to him… It didn’t bare thinking about.

Gently, your whisper almost lost beneath the ever present rumbling of the engines, you asked, “Are you… Well, I know you can’t be but… Are you okay?”

Unsurprisingly, you were met with silence.

If you had any sense, you would have left it alone there. Naturally, you didn’t. A little louder, you asked again, “Master? Are you…” It was stupid, you realised to ask if he was alright when you already knew the answer. You changed your question. “What are you thinking about?”

“Burning the Citadel to the ground.”

His cool calmness was perhaps scarier than his anger. It wasn’t turned on you, though, so there was still a chance you could diffuse the bomb before it blew. “Okay… Look, maybe the Council deserve that but -”

“No buts.”

You jumped back, his face suddenly in yours. He gripped the edge of the bed to steady himself and, for the first time since waking, you got your first real look at the Time Lord. His eyes were bloodshot, deep set into his face inside dark bags. His hair had moved well beyond the roguishly tousled vibe to straight up bird’s nest and a manic energy exuded from every fibre of his body as he rocked back and forth on his heels. “It’s the least they deserve.”

While you couldn’t argue that point, enough of your self remained in tact after experiencing the Matrix to know that mass murder was absolutely not the solution to the problem. You hissed through your teeth as you pushed yourself upright again, believing more than ever that The Master was right about how feeble human bodies were.

Cautiously, painfully aware that The Master might snap at any second, you lightly gripped his shoulder and suggested, “Why don’t we get some tea? Think about our options.”

He nodded along, pointedly ignoring your true meaning. “You’re right. The Citadel isn’t enough. They all have to pay for this. All of them.”

“Master, please, let’s be reasonable.”

“Reasonable? You saw what they did to us! To me! They used me, bastardised my DNA to give themselves new life. They kept me in the dark for thousands of years, tortured me, twisted my mind and then took it all away! My memories! My life! It was mine and they took it!”

You squeezed your eyes shut at the sudden explosion of emotion, anticipated but still terrifying. He slammed his fist against the wall, the punch landing barely an inch from your skull. Then, the sound of metal crunching as it collided with the hard surface. Wood cracked, the crystal light shattered. He screamed and cursed and then it went silent.

Ignoring the carnage around you, you slowly swung your legs out of bed and made the long, painful journey five steps across the bedroom to where he sat, curled up in the corner of the room, like a child hiding from the monsters.

You silently sat beside The Master and found his hand, wet with warm blood. Linking your fingers together – briefly surprised by the distinct lack of memories; perhaps now that you knew his entire life, there was no more left to see – you muttered quietly, “I’m so sorry for what they did to you. I know that doesn’t make it better but I’m here for you.”

He didn’t respond for a very long time. So long, in fact, that you fell asleep on his shoulder. When you woke the next day, the empty spot beside you was cold. There was no need to ask the TARDIS for confirmation. You knew exactly where he would be and you fully intended to stop him before it was too late, no matter what the price.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr!


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